Crush or be Crushed: The 204th Hunger Games
by ToxicatedRose
Summary: After two epic Games Panem has been thrown to the brink of potential rebellion, so the Gamemakers plan to tone down the Games to the simple concept of twenty-four teenagers entering and one surviving to hushen up the cries of revolt. But it won't be that easy; with the prospect of intense gore and an epic arena the tributes' screams may just be louder than ever.
1. Beginnings and Promises

**Tobias Harte, Head Gamemaker:**

"Oh Toby," Persephone said next to me as she looked at the baby photo. "She is seriously the most gorgeous thing... How old is she now?"

"Six months," I said proudly, looking up at the lavender-haired Gamemaker whose gave was transfixed at the grinning, chubby baby in the picture. I was surrounded by other Gamemakers who looked around boredly, hoping to discuss the Games. Unfortunately for them ever since having Terra I'd caught the baby-bug and was transfixed on my family. It was amazing how a baby had suddenly made everything seem more appealing, my marriage and job being two examples.

"My cousin Demetra had a baby about a year ago," Persephone explained as one of the Gamemakers, Yeena, leant in slightly to catch a glimpse of the picture. " Have you been sleeping well? She said that she actually slept really well when she had fed the baby-"

We were interrupted by the sound of heels. My deputy, Ruth, had stormed into the room looking as frustrated as ever. The expression of vexation curved across her features and she swiftly slammed a bunch of files right in front of me, making a noise akin to a meteor striking the earth. Every distracted Gamemaker suddenly jumped and looked up as Ruth's gaze inspected all of us.

Truth is, though I was Head Gamemaker Ruth was always the one who had made sure everything was organised. I lived in a world of procrastination and ideas; Ruth was about organising and actually making sure the vague thoughts in my head would be transfused into the world as something tangent and logical. She inspected all of us, looking annoyed (though truth be told something had made her fixed into a constant state of anger for the past year).

"We are supposed to be organised here," she said, taking her seat next to me and glaring at Yinga and Persephone. "Once the Games are finished we can all coo over Tobias' baby. In fact, we've had six months to do that," Ruth had been sensitive about the subject of babies ever since her only daughter, Olga, had ran away from her and fled to one of the Districts. "This is about the Games now. We have months and we don't even have an arena planned!"

"And where have you been?" I said, trying to feign authority.

"Listening to two of our previous victor's phone conversations," Ruth replied casually, looking through her notes. When she glanced up again she noticed the inquisitive expressions of every Gamemaker close to her, and said with a sigh: "What? I was just assuming something was up and Manny is head of security, he knows how to do all that hacking stuff, they knew their phone conversation was being bugged... which was why they don't talk about anything interesting, just things like _'It'll be nice to see you Rayann_,' and _'Oh, life's getting better, I made a knew friend last week'_, the really boring stuff, you know?" There was another silence and she cleared her throat, sitting more straight and regal than before. "Anyway, about our lack of an arena-"

"Actually," I paused, taking out a sheet of paper meekly. Ruth's gaze moved up to me. "As Head Gamemaker I discussed the arena with Yinga and we came up with an arena-"

Ruth snatched the paper from my trembling hand, suddenly the atmosphere erupted into frost and her icy eyes scanned the paper for a few seconds.

"This is unacceptable," she said.

"I think it's the best arena in-" Yinga began.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," replied Ruth. "It's certainly something you would create Tobias, but truth of the matter is as promising as this arena is it's simply too _extravagant_. The President specifically told us this Games is going to pass by, taking in twenty-four tributes, making sure twenty-three die and that is that. This year we're having a silent Games." She looked at all of us. "The past two Games have been thrilling and all but we know of the negative consequences they've beseeched upon us."

Her gaze moved to the girl who was in charge of weather and environment of arenas, Dr. Abigayl Carter, whose eyes were fixed upon data sheets as if she were too scared to listen to the conversation.

"Don't you agree, Dr. Carter?"

Abi's eyes shot up. "Y-Yes."

"The fact of the matter is," Ruth stood up, pacing the room. "The Games are our way of strengthening the Capitol and consolidating its political influence. An epic bunch of Games with epic arenas are interesting enough – but the two-hundred and second Games found us creating an arena so epic and bloody we'd created a group of people who were suddenly questioning the morality of the Games," Ruth looked at me accusatively, then glanced at Abigayl again, who shuddered with a wave of frisson. "Then the second year the President, and you Tobias, sent a rebellious Victor back into the arena in an attempt to make a perfectly normal, fine arena feel more _epic_." She frowned. "She survived, and just look at the consequences; we strengthened the backbone of rebellion."

"Maybe this arena is too exuberant," Abigayl said slightly nervously.

"No, it isn't," I stood and grinned. Abigayl was just intimidated by Ruth, and knew little of my arena. "Don't you all see? Luck has been against us lately and yes, dissatisfaction for the Capitol has increased, but can we really put it down to the greatness of the Games?" My words felt strangely patriotic on my tongue, but I continued: "The moral opposition some people have is the death of children – that happens in every Games, regardless of boring arenas or one as good as the arena that I'm currently planning."

"Your proposal is?"

"We'll have a quiet Games, devoid of unnecessary interference and spliced from Capitolian politics," I smiled. "But it's time to make a Games more epic that make supporters of the Capitol cheer and adore us, and will make opponents bow in fear of the might of the Capitol. The President isn't too pleased with us, it's true, but by creating sub-par Games we're not going to make him like us again." I smiled, grabbing the files Ruth had set down and picking them up. "It's time to rise to the challenge, to surprise and please the President and to create the _best Games ever_."

Feeling victory burst through me as the Gamemakers nodded in agreement, I pretended to shuffle through some papers and stormed out of the room like an overconfident shooting star streaking through the galaxy, watching people leave and hearing one Gamemaker comment to another as I left the room:

"Do you know what's scary about Tobias? When he says a game is going to be the best game yet, he usually means it..."

Though confident I was correct fulfilling my bold statement now seemed both exciting and impossible.

* * *

**Welcome to _Crush or be Crushed _– it's part of a trilogy. If you want to make yourself more accommodated with my universe of Games, read _Kill or be Killed_ (the 1st one), followed by _Hurt or be Hurt_ (the 2nd).**

**I'm just going to give you the jist of my stories: 1st, they're usually long, I won't cover all the reapings as I don't want to bore the death out of everyone including myself, but will have a substantial period of pre-Games time to develop all 24 characters before they'd be sent into a gruesome bloodbath. The story will then be around 35-45 chapters in the Games, as I don't kill a tribute or ten off every chapter; I will sometimes have regular conversations, moments of light fillery development – but there'll always be some kind of action! My Games are basically drama and dialogue one second and fighting the next (or both at the same time!). **

**MOST IMPORTANT:**** I won't have a sponsoring system. Want your character to live? Review. More than ever, the main way to ensure your character will survive is reviewing; I'm doing this to create a fair system where more regular readers will enjoy seeing their character blossom instead of killing their character off in favour of someone who won't read or review the story.**

**That will be the first and only time I stress that – no reviewing = character death. **

**Anyway, I'll post the list now, there's lots of open spaces so if your character wasn't initially submitted create a new one or if you're just a newcomer, submit one now!**

_**~Toxic**_

* * *

Tribute List:

**District One:**

Male: Pullox Shimmers, 18. (Littletimmy223).

Female: Alexandria Tarsus, 15. (Jayaho).

**District Two:**

Male: Jericho Aylin, 18. (AceReader55).

Female: Lorelei Draven, 17. (xx-Twisted Fantasy-xx).

**District Three:**

Male: Trojan Reid, 15. (asadderandawiserman).

Female: Elizabeth Korrapati, 15. (PoeTayToe).

**District Four:**

Male: Ross Deverell, 17. (ImmyRose).

Female: Honora Cashmere Flloyd, 18. (LokiThisIsMadness).

**District Five:**

Male: Magnus Carmine, 17. (Blangreck)

Female: Leda Viscoy, District 5, 16. (Pika And Olive's Adventures).

**District Six:**

Male: Sebastian Keating, 17. (YourDownfall)

Female: Brandy Gripen, 13. (Jesseknocks)

**District Seven:**

Male: Hadley Allard, 16. (jakey121)

Female: Conifer King, 14. (odairsmyotp)

**District Eight:**

Male: Darius Cortez, 16. (Computerfan)

Female: Mirrane Saffell, 17. (BamItsTyler)

**District Nine:**

Male: Giovanni Bescari, 17. (Bahrtok)

Female: Tear Nikuya, 16. (TalesOfFanfiction).

**District Ten:**

Male: Aurochs Vierra, 16. (Chaos In Her Wake)

Female: Carlie Compton, 17. (ASimpleMind94)

**District Eleven:**

Male: Nathan Fauve, 16. (Hutsune).

Female: Willow Horvat, 13. (Europa22).

**District Twelve:**

Male: Luke Diorite, 17. (charlieal12).

Female: Freya Garnsey, 18. (EvieGleek17).

_**If your tribute didn't get in, they're not accepted for one reason or another – sorry! Feel free to re-submit.**_

_**And to newcomers, you can still submit, ask me for my form via PM please! If you send one via review I won't even look over it and will just delete your review because you will be putting my story at risk. I urge you to submit girls please, because there's more open spaces with girls; in the biggest twist of SYOT history, I got sent more guys than girls. **_


	2. Rich and Poor

_How does it feel,_

_To be without a home, _

_Like a complete unknown,_

_Like a rolling stone? _

- Bob Dylan

* * *

**Carlie Compton, District 10, 17**

The evening before the Reapings had always held an anxious kind of tension; the spring air was usually pleasant and provided a cooling effect that eased the dry heat of District Ten, almost reassuringly bathing my skin in its relieving cold as I stood out on the porch of my father's ranch and looked out at District Ten's faint town center. The place where the Reaping would occur seemed like a bright star in the barren horizon, and I could only hope that tonight wasn't the last night that I'd be looking out and admiring it.

I wasn't too nervous - the chances of me going into those Games were slim. When your father owned one of the more successful ranches in the Districts and there was food in the table every night your chances of security were almost guaranteed in comparison to the children who had a ton of name slips in that glass bowl to escape the cruel clutches of starvation. I was not one of those people. I told myself that thousands of times as I looked out into the porch, hearing a pulling lull of chatter and pop-music in the house behind me. But the chances were still there, and those chances - those six name slips - were still nagging in the back of my mind.

"Carlie?" My mother's voice came from the doorway and I turned around and smiled at her. My mother was a mature woman with a great smile and full figure, epitomising the 'girl next door' kind of beauty District Ten loved. It always made me feel complimented whenever I was told I looked like my mother's clone. "You're supposed to be coming inside, the party is goin' on and Devon is here."

Devon. The guy who I had been dating for a year who I hated. It seemed medieval to be with somebody who you didn't even like, but I was a socially aware girl who was conscious of my duties as the daughter of a successful man. My family were a traditional District Ten business family: my father was a businessman with his beautiful trophy of a wife. He was constantly thinking about the future of his business and who is to inherit it and was always hoping my mother would give him a son. Unfortunately my mother had never bore him one and the fruits of her womb were beginning to shrivel, so the chances of them ever producing the heir they wanted has suddenly shrunk.

So my father, ever the strategist, had decided to find me a suitor. That suitor had come in the form of Devon. My parents had both seen Devon as the perfect husband for me: he came from a well-to-do family, he was well-educated, charismatic, polite and handsome. Even I was a little charmed on the first few dates, but my interest had began to wane and I suddenly found myself finding Devon to be egotistical and uninteresting. I was well-educated, but I didn't want to talk about economics, politics or the things he was interested in. And Devon was uninterested in horses, music or any kind of poetry; the kind of things that I found interesting.

I walked into my father's living room where he was holding a good luck party. He held it every year as a way to wish all of his rich friends and their rich children good luck as if it were a lucky charm from the Reaping - maybe it was. Nobody I knew had been Reaped before. But the party was also a place where everybody had expressed satisfaction and adoration for the Capitol; my parents had always talked about the rebels in a favourable light considering we had been descended from them, but they were mildly pro-Capitol and never really had any ethical qualms with the Hunger Games. In all honesty I didn't either, but that still didn't stop me feeling worried and pressured by them.

"Carlie dear," my mother collected a tray and thrust it into my open arms. I found myself looking down at refreshing, sparkling beverages. "Do make sure to hand all of these drinks to our guests, will ya? And even more importantly try to talk to Devon!" She winked at me a little. "You've been together for a year and you haven't talked to him for a whole twenty-four hours!"

"When we say we're together we don't mean we're Siamese twins," I replied curtly, provoking a smile from my mother.

She went away into the kitchen to cook something as some guests flocked around me for refreshments. As I had been trained to do as a child, I smiled charmingly at everybody while striking up some great small talk. I was so good at pretending to like every single snob that came and went and I wondered if all of the other happy little wives were as pessimistic as I was under their white smiles and displays of candour.

"Carlie," a husky voice said behind me, accompanying the trailing of a finger up my arm before strong hands rested on my shoulder. I turned to face my year long boyfriend. Devon's striking green eyes and silky hair that looked as if it had been sewn from golden corn had made my heart flutter for about half a second until I realised he had the personality of a catfish.

"Devon," I smiled and held out the tray. "Would you happen to like some lemonade?"

"Don't mind if I do," Devon collected a glass and I continued smiling widely until the muscles in my cheeks throbbed. "I'm more of a root beer fan though, looks like you don't have any." He winked in a way that would usually be charming but only instilled some kind of revulsion in the pit of my stomach. "Just a tip for when we're married."

Devon had talked about lots of topics I hated. Whenever he talked about politics and economics with that same old condescending tone I usually felt indifferent, able to bare the boredom. But when he talked about our future marriage and children my fight or flight instinct automatically kicked in even though I maintained the facial expression of a brick. I forced myself to smile, letting out a tinkling laugh as if I were excited for the day. Devon wasn't wrong, we would inevitably marry for social status, but it was still a kick in the gut that I'd have to marry him and bear his children. But I kind of continued accepting the whole ordeal begrudgingly; marriage had always been a business transaction throughout history, and my future marriage wasn't going to be any different. I'd still have money and be free to do the things I loved while he ran businesses, maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"So Devon," I swept my hair back and noticed the desire in his eyes. "What have you been doing tonight?"

"Oh, just talking to your father about who he'll be electing as the next Mayor," Devon grinned. "We were both agreeing that electing Wade would be the best idea, because I know you don't like talking about it but you're obviously intelligent enough to know why District Ten shouldn't introduce a minimum wage. Not just is it economically stupid, but to pass such a radical policy we'd have to go to the Capitol for-"

I paused, same old boring conversation, same old pedantic tone. I had almost detached myself from the world completely and kept my facial expressions on autopilot according to Devon's words which refused to sink into my head. But then I suddenly noticed those all too familiar dimples and charming blue eyes, laughing at me beneath the tinted windowpane behind Devon. Awkwardness had seized me and my facial expression dropped, but there was also that feeling of excitement I felt whenever I had seen him.

"Devon, I really want Wade to be Mayor too," I thrust out the tray of drinks and forced him to seize them. Devon seemed incredibly out of place now that he had to actually do _something _other than talk about his meaningless opinions. "But I also really need to feed the horses." He looked incredibly dejected and I joked: "But hey, why don't you talk to the men about that kind of stuff? They'd understand it a lot better than I ever could."

"Yeah, of course," Devon said as I scurried outside.

An ocean of cool air had hit me again. I closed the door behind me, hearing the wind force multiple notes from the wind chimes, the tinkle had continued for a few seconds and then there was silence. I paced from one end of the porch to the other, waiting to see his face again.

"Jared," I spoke out loud after a brief moment, my voice followed by multiple chimes as the wind blew. "No more games, come on out!"

He seemed to come out of nowhere, hopping over the porch and making me jump. I fell back into the wall and felt my hair go out of place as Jared had held onto my waist. There was a tense silence again, devoid of any wind or noise as I was looking into Jared's eyes and he was giving me that same old grin. I huffed and pushed him away lightly, though he was pretty strong from farm labour, so I wasn't too successful.

"You know I hate it when you do that," I said, trying to sound more angry than I felt. "You're not supposed to be here! It's the day before the Reaping and if my pops-"

"You know I don't care," Jared said, as silent as ever behind his rambunctious expression.

I had kind of forgotten the main reason I had ever lost interest in Devon. The flat personality was one reason behind my new indifference, but the appearance of Jared had mostly catalysed the whole thing. I had met Jared about six months ago when he had become a temporary farmhand for my parents ranch and somehow some kind of romance blossomed. My father's hopes of me being the ideal wife would be crushed if he ever discovered I had been cheating on Devon throughout most of our relationship.

Guilt and shame were always the disadvantage of being with Jared. As were the fact he was the antithesis to my thesis; both in class, gender, likes and interests. But still, Jared's love for country music, his bad-boy nature and the way he could kind of bring out a side of me I never knew... it was incredibly refreshing.

"Come home with me," Jared said, kissing around my neck and sending chills down me that weren't related to the night air. "You need to loosen up a little."

"I need to be home for Reaping morning," I said, more tempted than ever. After a few brief kisses I suddenly smiled. "Or maybe I need to think about my parents a little less..."

Jared held onto my hand and grinned. "I think you do. I have the horses ready."

The fact Jared enjoyed riding horses as much as I did was a big appeal. Also the fact that he allowed me to spread my wings a bit, to know there was more to life than social duty, family and money. He encouraged me to actually act on what _I _wanted and not what was socially accepted of me. I was too cautious to ever say for certain but I think I actually loved Jared, or had the potential to. As we linked hands and rushed off through the fields, our giggles accompanying the night as we disappeared, I knew that whatever we had it was certainly better than my false relationship with Devon.

* * *

"Goddammit Jared," I hissed, slipping into last night's dress and inspecting myself in the mirror to ensure that what I was wearing was socially acceptable for the Reaping. The simple, navy blue shift dress seemed appropriate enough, and it didn't look worn out even though I had worn it for a few hours the night prior. To try and make myself look a little more formal I tied my hair into a tight bun and removed my grandmother's pearls from my cardigans' pockets. My thumb traced the pearls as I remembered my grams, wishing that she was here to give me some well needed advice. "My parents are going to kill me."

"What have I told you about your parents?" Jared chuckled. I inspected his toned physique from the reflection behind me, pretending that I was examining my pearly white teeth and deep brown eyes when in reality I was being a little more perverted. I cleared my throat, fawning over my hair for a few more seconds.

"I haven't moved out or gotten married yet," I said, sounding so much more traditional than Jared's liberal attitude as I slipped into last night's shoes. "They have the power. So are you getting out of bed?"

"No," Jared groaned, rolling onto his back and forcing me to frown.

"You seem to forget you're eighteen years old and you're eligible for the Reaping too," I said bluntly. Whenever the Reaping was mentioned there was that same old nervous feeling in my stomach even though I couldn't help but acknowledge that my chances were small. Next to impossible. When Jared refused to stir I beamed. "Or you could just come along purely for the purpose of accompanying me before I'm sent off to be killed?"

Jared perked up a little. "Don't say that."

"You sound serious for once in your life," we both chuckled and I leant in for a kiss.

Jared quickly fumbled around for clothes and before I knew it we were back out into the streets of District Ten. Luckily for me Jared lived in the town center so we didn't have to use a vehicle, horses or walk miles like many of the poorer children in the District did. Considering how close the Reaping was many surrounding families walked in sync with their scared or stony faced little children, all of them feeling the same faint despair as I did. I tried to retain or be inspired by Jared's optimism and carelessness, merely linking hands with him and smiling.

If I had to be honest there were worse things I had to worry about. My parents would probably ask me where I had been the night previously and I obviously couldn't give them or Devon the actual explanation. They'd be angry at me for wearing yesterday's clothes even if I looked immaculate, especially in comparison to the sluggish children surrounding me with their rags and grimy faces. One talent I did have was lying or deceiving people with my facade of being a good little family girl - maybe I could tell them I had to stay with a grieving friend or something like that. After all, I did have a lot of friends, even if I wasn't particularly close to any of them.

I winced a little when we reached the newly-constructed gates leading to the town square. All around us Peacekeepers had flocked, and a little girl in the gate next to me was screeching as a Peacekeeper pricked her finger to take a sample of her blood. I winced, though I had been used to the same old treatment for the past year. I gave Jared one last smile as he approached the Peacekeeper too, and then quickly hurried into the seventeen's section where I'd be split from Jared until the Reaping was over.

"Bonjour tout le monde!" The escort's voice reverberated around the wide space which was slowly being filled by children who flocked the square in the same way our cattle flocked the abattoirs. It was time to see who would make the best meat. "It's wonderful to see District Ten again!"

Our escort, Geonova, was pretty okay as far as escorts went. His newly styled hair perfectly accompanied that friendly yet oblivious smile most Capitolians had, though I couldn't really make out his face through the bright spectre of a sun above him that cost a burning light across the squinting faces of children. Around us were our family, and I knew that my father and mother would be there somewhere. They knew that I'd come to the Reapings, right? I lolled on my anxieties while the Mayor read out the treaty and talked about how wonderful the Capitol was, stressing that we were being punished for the ungrateful actions of our ancestors.

When it was finally over Geonova rushed back to the microphone, relieved that the history lesson was over. "Well, we all know the history, but lets also remember the Games' traditional meaning also accompanies the fact we're all here to just have fun and unite with the Capitol over some kind of common denominator!" There was silence, and the disillusioned escort strutted over to the glass bowl which contained some of my name slips. "Anyway, enough of all that, right? Lets pick our girl!"

His hand fished around the bowl for a few seconds, the slips like butter in his hands, purposely being let fall as soon as he clutched them. After a few seconds of messing us around and leaving us in tension, probably grabbing the name slip of every girl in the District, Geonova settled with one of the slips in the bowl. I closed my eyes, praying to whatever god out there that he hadn't picked my name. He wouldn't pick my name right? I mean, the chances of that happening were just...

"Carlie Compton!"

I paused for a second, unable to believe that my own name was called out. Some of the people surrounding me cast me a sympathetic glance, and for that moment all television cameras on the sidelines and all the eyes of my peers were fixed upon me. It was a very numbing and debilitating experience. I didn't know how to react, setting one foot forwards before I realised I was literally walking to what could be my death. What was most likely my death. To my humiliation I burst into tears and almost collapsed onto the floor in the process.

Through my sobs I could hear my mother also crying loudly and shouting my name though at that moment that wasn't what bothered me. A Peacekeeper grabbed me and forced me to my feet as the surrounding children hurriedly cleared the area. Then, to my dismay, the Peacekeeper's strong grip was my vehicle to the stage. My tear filled eyes managed to acknowledge the shocked looking children, my crying mother on the sidelines as she stood beside my ashen faced father and a remorseless looking Devon.

Then I was led up those steps onto the stage where Geonova patted my shoulder lightly.

"There, there dear, I know it's a little scary," his smile was warm, though he didn't understand. His kind would never understood - hell, up until this moment I never really comprehended the bloodiness of the Hunger Games. Forgetting me immediately after he strutted to the boy's bowl with an enthusiastic smile. "So here's your girl! Lets applaud her and make her feel a little bit better about this whole ordeal!"

I stood fixed, watching the motionless audience not applaud at all but instead focus on the floor remorsefully now that they had witnessed what was most likely the death of their fellow citizen. A collective intake of breath was taken as Geonova fished in the male reaping bowl in the same manner as he had earlier, withdrawing a slip of paper, uncurling it and then reading it to us all:

"Aurochs Vierra!"

The friends of the boy called gasped and turned to look at him, prompting everybody else to repeat their motion. I understood how he felt, and felt almost threatened that the stocky, strong jawed guy in front of me didn't burst in to tears like I did. Still feeling the crusted brine on my face, I watched as Aurochs made his way to the stage looking shocked, confused but calm overall. I knew he was scared, but he did a much better job at hiding it than I did as he marched to the stage.

"No! No!" I heard screaming from the sides and the Peacekeepers tactically intercepted the boy's mother. Even though Aurochs was as unlucky as I was I felt this immediate jealousy for two reasons: his family actually cared about him enough to fight and scream for him, and though my family looked miserable they hadn't reacted quite as emotionally and had remained composed. Almost as if I were an object. And he had appeared much more competent than I had, but I knew I still had abilities. I could use my social skills, I was fit enough to struggle through the Games if I really set my mind to it.

"Shake hands," Geonova reminded us as we both made our way to the stage. I looked up at the taller boy, our hands clasping without forethought. I even smiled at him politely, and though I hated murder with every inch of my being I knew that he had to die for me to survive. So did many others.

No more polite little girl that listened to daddy's every order. No longer would I let myself slip into the background and become an object. I was prepared to throw that aside because ultimately I had to fight, manipulate and ultimately kill to get out alive. And that included the much stronger boy who stood in front of me, his mind still blank as he processed the situation.

"District Ten's tributes for the two-hundredth and fourth Hunger Games!"

* * *

**Sebastian Keating, District 6, 17**

District Six was located in a part of the country that was usually pretty dry without the faintest trace of humidity, but something had changed today. The citizens rushed through the streets, covering their heads with newspaper or tatty jackets as the rain had forced itself down the sky violently. When the downpour had started I was lucky enough to have gotten to my door, opening it and glancing behind me at the storm which sent torrents down the streets of District Six.

"Seb?" My mother came into the bland hallway, noticing my wet clothes. "Where have you been? This morning you told me you wanted to just catch up with friends for five minutes before the Reapings-"

"I did want to catch up," I said earnestly.

My mother looked at me with a little bit of scorn, but it faltered when she had laughed a little. "For a few hours?"

"I didn't catch a glimpse of the time," I chuckled.

She gave me another scornful look, though it was ruined the the subtle amusement across her face. When she turned I followed her into our simple kitchen. Inside the pan something delicious was brewing - my mother had spent her whole life providing and cooking for everybody, and to say she had become a competent cook was an understatement. I just hoped that whatever she was cooking didn't have meat, something that I hadn't been too fond of eating ever since I had developed an affinity for animals. I watched my mum scoop soup up with a ladle and pour it into a bowl, almost thrusting it into my arms.

"No meat," she said knowingly. I sat down at our shoddy kitchen table while she hurried back to the kitchen sink to continue cleaning the substantial pile of plates left to float in the kitchen sink.

I retrieved a small spoon and sank it into the soup, staring into the contents contemplatively for a few seconds as the sounds of the children running, playing and screaming through the corridors was audible, merging with the pattering of rain against the window and the clattering of washed dishes. It was funny that for such a grim day, Reaping day was the one day where we usually managed to get treated. The prospect of losing their children made my parents more mild: if we did something wrong they didn't dare shout at us, they'd ensure that our meals were well cooked and that we had been given extra large portion, they'd put us in clothes that actually looked well maintained.

As I sat there eating for those few seconds I pondered the possibility of me being Reaped. They were tiny, but still there. I was seventeen so there would be six slips of paper in that bowl, and the escorts hand could withdraw it. But my older sister - now age twenty-one - had survived it. Most District children had survived the Reapings, so I should dismiss any paranoia. I was usually a happy carefree person, and I wouldn't let the Reaping change my demeanour.

"Tag!" There was a fit of giggles as my twin sisters rushed into the room, breaking me out of my stream of consciousness. "You're it!"

"No way Scarlett," the other sister turned, verging on a tantrum. "That is _not _fair!"

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Clara taunted.

My mother turned to the twins and lectured them about leaving her alone in the kitchen as I sat by, watching and laughing. I could see why my younger twin siblings were a pain when it came to my parents, but I just kind of saw them as a barrel of fun.

"Now come on," my mother grabbed both of their hands. "It's time to get a tub. We have some hot water today, and it's the Reaping so we think that it's time for you two to go and wash."

"No!" They both protested. My mother tried dragging them out the room but they kicked and writhed with vehemence, Scarlett even striking my mother lightly in the process. By the time I had finished my meal my mother had returned with a weary, tired look.

"They finally got in the tub?" I said, laughing. When they were older a bath, especially a hot one, would become a luxury. But every young child preferred being painted in dirt than shoved in a tub that had to be used by every other family member; that was how I was when I had been young.

"Your father is watching over them," my mother said, scooping up my bowl. "You should be washing your own dishes at seventeen, Seb. It's the Reaping in an hour, so I suggest you get yourself ready."

Following my mother's advice and wanting to escape more complaints about how many chores I did in the house, I scurried out of the room and up my stairs. Though our family weren't particularly rich we were lucky enough to rent a two-storey house with three bedrooms. Inside my room was my younger brother Ashton. He sat inspecting his worn-down suit in the mirror contemplatively as I walked over to my bed and slumped on it, letting silence stir by as I relaxed for the next five minutes.

Unlike the rest of his wild family, Ashton had always been quiet, but he never sat there just looking at himself in the mirror for minutes at a time. I could tell he was worried, but not for himself. Everybody but me in the family was too old or young to be Reaped, and at ten Ashton himself was two years off being one of the Capitol's potetial victims. I found myself leaning up, resting against the wall and watching him as he turned and smiled at me.

"You should get ready," he said. "You're the one who needs to attend the Reaping and you're not even dressed. Have you gotten washed yet?"

"Yes," I lied, slipping out of bed and rushing to see what my mother had prepared me for Reaping day.

Unlike everyone else, I requested to not be dressed up too formal. I hated formal wear, and hated how boys and girls in the District attempted to look decent on Reaping day, as if they were trying to impress the Capitol. Ultimately they looked silly too, swaddled in torn dresses or ancient suits in an attempt to look on par with the glittering and glamorous Capitolites.

After slipping into some clean, untorn jeans and a shirt with a nice jacket I inspected myself in the mirror for a few more seconds, debating on whether it would be beneficial to comb my black hair. My hair was naturally straight anyway. After smiling at myself brightly in the mirror, almost for reassurance, I turned back to Ashton.

"You look great," Ashton smiled. He had always been an affectionate brother.

"Thanks," I said, ruffling through his hair and knowing that he was lying. Not that I was ugly, but my love life had always been stagnant in comparison to my social life. There was nothing particularly good, bad or definable about me - no scars, everything was average. I had kind of accepted the fact I wasn't the best looking guy in District Six, often telling myself that my personality and all the friends I had kind of made up for it all.

Knowing that my dad had taken my twins out of the tub, I moved into the empty space we liked to call a bathroom and used the leftover, relatively clean water to scrub away the faint traces of dirt on my face to avoid any complaints for my mother. I didn't feel I had time to put in the effort to bathe or do a full body wash, but I looked suitable enough for the Reapings, so with that I rushed down the stairs where my family waited by the doorway for me so that we could go into the streets of District Six and head off to the town center.

My parents had waited for me hand in hand, the twins sitting in front of them also linking with intertwined fingers. My father had always been an austere, more quiet man like Ashton, which was why I hadn't connected with him as much, but everybody was particularly quiet today. Even the twins barely made a noise as I smiled enthusiastically at them. We were all an incredibly loving, caring family. I was blessed to have them. I was also blessed with incredibly slim chances of even being Reaped, so I didn't understand their paranoia, their fear that it would be my name being called out and the silence that replaced conversation.

"It's going to be like every other year," I said, rolling my eyes.

My older sister Vallerie, a pretty girl in her twenties, flounced into the corridor with a tinkling laugh. "What are we all so worried for?" Everybody turned to face her as if she were stupid, their looks reminding her that today was Reaping day. She rolled her eyes. "You guys are really that bothered that it's Reaping day? There are thousands of kids in District Six," she ruffled my hair as she passed and gave a large smile to my parents. It didn't seem to cheer them. "He's not going to be Reaped, and even if he does it won't be _that _bad."

"Just me getting killed and stuff," I joked as my mother had gotten two large, thick woolly coats from the makeshift coat rack. Vallerie turned to me, understanding it was all a big joke.

"Oh wait, you'll die if you get Reaped? Hey, maybe I can tell the escort to just call your name anyway," I laughed. Funnily enough, Ashton also laughed.

"Maybe I can get a room to myself!"

"Oh yeah, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" Vallerie bent down at her knees so that she was at his level. "And then we could hold a party. And it would be the best party ever - even better than all of the lame parties he's tried holding."

"Hey! I hold good parties!" I joked along.

I knew Vallerie joking about my death was just a joke and took it in my stride. Vallerie and I were incredibly close; we were pretty similar in the way we both looked at things optimistically, enjoyed a good laugh and socialising with our friends. We also held great parties whenever our parents had worked late shifts or gone out at night, though recently it had stirred into a bit of a rivalry. We always joked about who could hold the best parties. Considering I had managed to snag enough cheap wine from the black market and nobody had even remembered what had happened during my last party two months ago, I was kind of in the lead, though Vallerie was a close second.

"Stop joking about these things," my mother said. Though usually warm, there was a frost that had been caught in her throat that chilled the room as she spoke. She slipped into her own coat and forced a smile. "The Reaping is going to be okay, we've gotten through it with Vallerie and we know we're going to get through it with Seb... it's just nothing we joke about lightly, parents lose their children every single year." She looked at Vallerie, Ashton and I. "Are you understood?"

"Yes," we all said guiltily.

"Good," my mother smiled and opened the door. "To the town center we go."

We all went into the rainy streets. Though my mother and the twins had coats, the rest of us had to bear the feeling of cold rain pressing into our skin, hair and clothes, though it was much lighter than it had been thirty minutes previously. The rest of the Districts trudged along in their drab, makeshift formal attire and the nervous or depressed looks on their faces. I almost felt sorry for them. District Six had always been one of the more bleak, grey Districts. It had always been poor and miserable and I had always felt out of place for making the best out of my situation and trying to tell myself that everything was going to be okay.

I mean, though starvation was common and you'd always expect to see the fleets of homeless people and corpses in the street where people had starved to death, I had heard from rumours that our District was nowhere near as awful as Districts Eleven and Twelve. So that was a bonus, as was the bonus that my dad had a wage that was enough to provide - and even during times where his wage wasn't enough my mother would find some kind of work that would help out.

After a twenty minute walk the twins had eventually started to complain and my parents had to pick them up. Soon the network of people trudging through the streets grew more thick and dense and people waited outside the gates that led into the town square. I stood in the crowd and my mother gave me a quick hug and a kiss.

"We'll be going into the sidelines," she told me. "Meet up with us after the Reaping and we'll have a nice, celebratory dinner prepared, okay?"

"That's fine," I smiled. "No lamb?"

"Lamb for everyone but you," in her arms a giggling Clara forced her body forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

I grinned a little, stretching out my arm to tickle her before my mother hurried away and I was left with a crowd of worried looking strangers. After another fifteen minute wait I was finally at the gate where a Peacekeeper was chatting to another as he pricked children's fingers, marking down their names and letting them diffuse into the town square.

"We need to be on high alert this year," one of the Peacekeepers said, pricking a sobbing twelve-year old's finger and letting her through. "The President has placed District Ten and District Four on red alert, it will only be a matter of time before District Six revolt."

"Wouldn't surprise me, this District did revolt pretty recently," his female counterpart said, scribbling down the name of one of the many thousands of children. I knew what she was talking about; District Six's main industry used to be in transport, which was why our District was so big and why it had so many road and rail networks, as well as large production centers where hoverboards and planes were produced. When the Capitol had made living standards incredibly low they had restricted the workers so tightly we revolted, though the revolt had failed and we were punished. The transport industries were nationalised and conditions made even more brutal. In protest we had slowly monopolised a medicinal industry, though that had only led to more access of drugs, hence District Six had a high proportion of morphling (and other addictive substance) addicts. Even around me I could see people who held the telltale signs of morphling takers: jaundiced skin, bloodshot eyes and sunken features.

"Yeah, wouldn't surprise me if they tried again."

"It'll all calm down in a few years time," I listened through the trivial chatter and crying children to hear what they were saying. "Anyway, have you seen these kids? Not like they can do much."

I approached the female Peacekeeper and she gave me a blunt smile, barely acknowledging me as she pricked me finger, scanned my DNA and scribbled down my name. The barriers in front of me were temporarily let down and I hurried into the town center as the Peacekeepers changed their conversation to a recent Capitolian scandal.

After a few minutes of wrestling, I found my way into the seventeen's section. The stage was currently empty and after a few minutes of shoving and searching, I managed to find my best friend Ethan. Other friends of mine surrounded him - Clark, Melisa, Lan, Tarrik... They all acknowledged me and waved, and I waved to them all back and stepped closer so that we were close enough to clap each other on the back enthusiastically.

"Hey!" They all greeted.

"Hey guys," there was a few minutes of hand shaking and catch ups. We tried to distract ourselves from the fact that we were waiting for two kids to be called to their death and that we were potentially one of those kids had made the atmosphere a little nervous, even when we did distract ourselves with topics such as last week's party, who had done what and what we planned to do once the Reaping was over. Ethan was unusually silent, looking out at the empty stage.

I didn't need to ask him why he was worried, it was kind of obvious; behind us in the congregation of sixteen year olds his girlfriend, Skye, was standing. I liked Skye, she was one of those girls who rarely spoke ill of anyone else and I had known her since infancy. I would be almost as sad as Ethan if she were to be Reaped.

"It's okay," I said to Ethan, grabbing his shoulder reassuringly. "She won't get picked."

"I know..." Ethan said, sighing. "I'm just worried. Not for myself, but-"

We jolted at a sudden, large banging noise. In the sky fireworks sprinkles, not made mild by the cracks of sunlight through the clouds. When they descended as smoke our escort, Markoz, made his way onto the stage and grabbed the microphone. Markoz looked much more modest than most of the other escorts on television, but the way he held the microphone, his pearly smile and charismatic demeanor held more life than the children that surrounded me and the adults who waited nervously on the sidelines.

"District Six!" He clapped as the Mayor made his way to the podium. "Now, we all know it's time to prepare for the two-hundredth and fourth Hunger Games. So many Hunger Games, and will District Six have their best tributes yet?" When I thought about it, there wasn't much competition on the boy's side for the past few years, though the District Six girl last year was pretty tough and had done well for herself. "So, we will go through the procedures which you're all familiar with after the treaty of treason is read out!"

I could recite the treaty with my eyes closed, it was nailed into our heads every reapings and at the beginning of history lessons. Rebellion, rebels losing, District Thirteen being destroyed and the Capitol punishing us with the Hunger Games. I always found the Capitol's story a little flimsy, especially considering District Thirteen had been revealed to survive and were now at war with the Capitol. Still, every Capitolite fell for it - I could see Markoz with his eyes closed, reciting the Mayor's words to himself with his hand proudly tightened over his heart.

Markoz wiped tears of marvel for his eyes before composing himself and striding back to the microphone with that same casual smile. He seized the microphone and moved his hand above a bowl full of slips, a glint in his eyes:

"So, now it's time for the procedure," he said. "Hold your breath, it's time to select our girl this year!"

Baited breaths seized everyone, but not due to excitement. It was linked to the fact that a girl, a daughter, a friend, a girlfriend, a sister, a cousin... somebody out there was going to be selected and most probably killed. Both of the District Six girls had endured nasty fates in the past two Games, crushed and decapitated. I almost hoped this year the Games would be more merciful and that the girl selected would endure a quick, near-painless death in the Bloodbath.

"Brandy Gripen!" Markoz announced.

A concoction of gasps and relieved sighs made their way through the audience. A stern second struck by, Markoz's voice sinking into everybody's mind for that second. On the sideline a modest-sized family burst into tears, the mother's wails shaking the air for those few seconds. I tried to hold back my guilt and sympathies, looking at the gravel beneath my feet like everybody else. The girl who was selected as screaming out and crying as she dragged up onto the stage, my peripheral vision catching sight of a girl who couldn't be older than fourteen. It was always sad when younger people were selected.

"It's not fair," she sobbed on the stage, her voice nothing compared to the wails of her mother. Markoz practically ignored her cries, moving over to her and shaking her hand enthusiastically.

"Brandy, do you have a nickname?"

Brandy looked up, shocked at the lack of empathy. "P-People call me B."

"Well, our female tribute is B!" Markoz said, trying to sound enthusiastic even if the girl's age and Reaping reaction had practically screamed Bloodbath. He strode to the other Reaping bowl and I analysed Brandy for those few seconds: she was a small, freckle faced girl who looked extremely young and weak. Her messy hair and empty eyes had told me that the girl in question had possibly taken morphling. Her physiology had all the symptoms of taking the addictive substance, and though it seemed stupid a girl so young would take it, it did happen. "Well, now it's time for our male tribute!"

There was another silence in the area as Markoz rummaged through the Reaping bowl. Even Brandy had stopped her crying, possibly out of respect, and her eyes were fixed on her sniffling family with a longing gaze. My fingers crossed for those few seconds, not expecting to be Reaped when -

"Sebastian Keating!"

All of my friends turned to me. There was a collective gasp, considering I was well known in the District whether that be friends from school, family friends or people who I had worked for in an attempt to scrape money for my family. Ethan and the other guys turned to me, their jaws almost unhinged in shock. I noticed Ethan tried to say something, but everything slowed down as I froze.

There was a sudden conflict of external emotions and internal expressions: I understood why Brandy had burst into tears. There was a sense of devastating shock that rocked my soul to the core. As I stood there, it slowly sunk into terror and the prospect of death hung around me like a nasty stench. Trying to keep brave and composed, I forced one foot forward, making my way up to the stage with a brave face. I tried to condition myself to think optimistically. I had a chance, someone could volunteer, at least I didn't cry like Brandy did-

When I made my way onto the stage I almost cried when I heard the sounds from my family, lingering in my mind like an eternal haunting. My father and Ashton didn't react, I knew they wouldn't, but my mother had almost collapsed with shock and devastation. I could only look to the floor, continuously reminding myself to be brave as I heard the loud wails of the twins - they didn't even know what they were crying for, but they knew that most kids who were called up to the stage didn't come back. My fists clenched as I tried to bite back the inevitable tears... I could cry when I was away from the cameras.

I wouldn't have much time away from the cameras to cry or to be myself. As I was forced to turn and shake the hand of the small, blotchy faced Brandy I reminded myself that everything was an act now. And unlike the little girl in front of me, with her innocent face and black headband, I didn't plan to let my act falter anytime soon. I couldn't let the sobs of my family stop me from seeing them again, or from growing up and doing all of the things that I had hoped and dreamed of doing.

* * *

**First chapter!**

**By the way, I still need a District One character. There's one space so if you don't have a tribute, try to submit a good Career for me! I'm sorry if you don't get a spot this year, spaces are really competitive, and there'll be a 4th Games so if you stick around for another year and a half you'll get your opportunity.**

**I want to address some things I didn't address in the prologue, so bare with me:**

**1. I speak in British English, sorry Americans, but I write in British English too as much as I want to make you guys happy xD that means mum, an omission of your love for the letter 'z', the return of 'u's' etc. You might even get some British slang in there, but if there is any do criticise me for that because I think Panem would be devoid of all slang that existed hundreds of years ago.**

**2. I usually update once every 5 days, though it could be a week late. However (IMPORTANT) I will be taking a hiatus before the summer, possibly late-April/early-May for exams. I will be back in a month or two, so don't just think I've left and given up on the story. Hell, even if I'm gone for 6 months it's best to stick around. People who have been with me from the start know that I'm way too stubborn to abandon stories.**

**3. I come to fanfiction to improve, last chapter (which was unedited) some people criticised me and apologised or asked for my permission. Unless you're being cruel or just plain rude, don't apologise or ask for permission. Just do it... I'm making a conscious effort to actually attempt to edit my chapters, though I seldom edit them because reading through my own writing drains me.**

**4. I'm going to try my best to respond to reviews! I used to respond to every review, but my fan base kind of inflated since KobK and that's been more difficult without being time consuming, especially since I like to discuss things in depth. I won't respond to every review, but I will respond, especially if you have a query.**

**5. I usually post quotes that are thematically linked to the chapter. For the first 12 chapters where I introduce tributes, I'll post lyrics that I feel relate to them. This one was 'Like a Rolling Stone' by Bob Dylan, and describes Carlie pretty wonderfully.**

**Anyway, that's all, I hope you liked!**

_**~Toxic**_

_**P.S - Capitol Commentator Questions (Questions linked to the Hunger Games) and Interview Questions (trivia about yourself) won't start for another good few chapters.**_


	3. Weak and Strong

_Wait a minute baby,_

_Stay with me a while._

_You said you'd give me light,_

_But you never told me about the fire._

_- Fleetwood Mac_

* * *

**Trojan Reid, District 3, 15**

People had always interested me.

Granted, I found them kind of stupid and they meant nothing to me. But standing on top of the building of one of District Three's few restaurants and looking at people strolling through the black markets camped outside had filled me with interest. Beneath the black, sooty skies of the District they talked among themselves, bartering or holding onto children they worried they'd never see again. Considering it was Reaping day, I could feel all the anxious air being breathed from every single person as they bought the cheapest goods they could to cook a good meal.

What did I think about Reaping day? Not much. I kind of had this theory that when it came to living in Panem only the best survived. It was true that in the Districts there was the significant disadvantage of being poor, but that wasn't really an excuse. I came from one of the most cumbersome backgrounds; my mother was a rich girl who was disowned by her parents for marrying my orphan thief of a father. They tried to settle in normally, with low-paying, sluggish factory work, but eventually decided to settle for stealing. It was the best decision they ever made.

With their income we had gone from being a family with nothing in the bank to a family who had enough to survive and even enough for luxuries from the markets. I refused to acknowledge the immorality of their actions, because it was justified by one thing: survival. You fight, you survive. Maybe I should have been a little more nervous about the whole Hunger Games ordeal, but I knew that there were dozens of children in front of me, some playing and acting as normal, some carrying an anxiety with them. How many children in District Three were there? I was willing to bet thousands. Chances are that nobody here was going to be the person that'd be Reaped.

But the Hunger Games were irrelevant to me, so I focused on other matters, most likely the people who were in front of me with pockets pregnant with money. I found myself slipping from the top of the building onto the sign beneath – _Ive's, _I believed the restaurant was called – and so fluently nobody noticed my feet were on the ground of the marketplace and I could stroll into the crowd of buyers with a concealed knife to cut through any materials which would hold cheap jewellery, gold or credits. Though I didn't steal for profit like my parents did, I did it for my own material gain to build my own economy, and one day my parents wouldn't be here and I'd be the one who had to steal, so I knew I had to get used to it. I'd been stealing since I was around seven or eight, and was getting pretty good at it.

Survival of the fittest.

I diffused into the crowd and hoped that I'd be as subtle as possible. As I passed each and every person, my hand would snake into their pocket, snatch at a jewel around their necklace so quickly they didn't notice it snap or I'd cut through material that I could see was bulging with gold. Streaming through the crowd got me more and more stuff step after step. Sometimes it would be more difficult and the marketplace goers would be more attentive and alert but I'd avoid pickpocketing those kinds of people.

The reason people were so itchy in markets was because pickpocketing was kind of common in District Three – or any other District for that matter. When the average job the District barely made someone enough credits to pay rent and get a loaf of bread my parents weren't going to be the only people who conjured up the idea of stealing. All of the Districts were filled with beggars, whores, drug dealers and – yes – pickpockets, tainting our image further in the Capitol's eyes, but unlike the crying children or hapless adults surrounding me I admired those kind of people the most. They were the ones who were surviving, and risking anything to do so.

By the time I had cut through the market my pockets were filled to the brim with credits and whatever else I could grab. I was in the process of cutting through another man's pocket as he argued about the quality of his deer soup when I heard a grumble of complaints behind me. A fountain of gold slipped into my hands and I turned and hurried away as I heard the cries.

"Hey, where's my money?"

"Askia, have you seen my necklace?"

"What the-"

The crowd began to grumble together, thunder rumbling before the lightning of a riot while the pickpocketed only just began to realise what had happened and those who had been spared the wrath of being thieved watched them confusedly. In order to blend in, I slipped my hands and felt the satisfying coins in there as I grumbled:

"Who stole from me?" I said, looking around as if confused and offended. Soon shouting had erupted and fingers were being pointed, though no fingers were moved in my direction. Satisfied that I had gone unnoticed, I slipped from the crowd as quickly as I had entered and forced myself to speed through a damp alleyway.

The open air had turned into stagnant air. The graffitied alleyways were vague underneath what seemed like rolling steam. A man lay onto the wall, choking on his own vomit and not noticing me. Still feeling paranoid that I had been caught, I scampered through into another alleyway, making multiple twists and turns as my feet splashed through grimy puddles and cobblestone before I had finally reached a dead end.

And what a sight I had seen. A hooded boy, much taller than my small frame, stood tall with a spray-can in hand. He hadn't noticed me and was spraying paint over the bare, dirty wall hurriedly; I looked at what seemed to be a nursery rhyme:

_Rock-a-bye baby when you are twelve,_

_The Capitol will take you and delve,_

_Through your fears, your hopes and your dreams,_

_And it will crush them to dust and seams._

I read his poem, the words sending goosebumps in me for a second, or maybe it was the cold. Poetry or political messages didn't really affect me. When the boy turned and noticed me, the can immediately slipped from his hand and rolled downhill so that it rested at my feet.

"I never expected to see the famous 'Tide' before," I commented, setting my foot forward so that it crushed the can and paint came spraying out like blood sprayed out of a wound. "Pretty interesting rhyme, did you make it up?"

Not one for small talk, the hooded boy looked at me, his face remaining anonymous underneath a creepy looking mask. There was a moment of recognition beneath his eye slits before he ran past me and down the alleyway into the unknown. I stood, reading the message over and over again and thought about its message, wondereding whether the Capitol were really that bad or if the message was exaggerating. At the very bottom read the signature left at the bottom of the verse:

– _The __Tide_

The Tide wasn't exactly famous, and he wasn't going to be the next leader of the rebellion, but he had garnered a fair slice of attention in the local media. He had left multiple scrawls over monuments, businesses, houses and restaurants. Sometimes he would gain the most attention by scrubbing the graffiti onto important political edifices such as the Mayor's house or the Justice Building. People would try to catch him, but he was always anonymous and always got away. Peacekeepers would scrub away his paint, but the words were always remembered by those who read them.

I was one step ahead. The Tide was my classmate, Creek Brent. I knew it because he had the same stature and eyes as Creek, and though Creek was quiet and kept to himself the one conversation I had with him involved Creek cussing the Capitol out. Creek may have seemed silent, and there was a reason for that: the only way to be caught was to not speak. I knew that as a thief, and he knew that as a rebel.

I didn't know if I thought Creek was stupid or brave. The Capitol seemed like an indestructible fortress, and risking your life to scrawl paint on walls seemed like a silly attempt to pull it down. Though, as I turned and walked down the alleyway at a more casual pace, I couldn't help but admire Creek's passion.

What was my passion for? Living, stealing, money?

I didn't quite know.

* * *

When I arrived home I greeted my mother and father as if nothing had happened. Really, nothing had, though they may have been interested in the fiasco at the market and how I had bumped into the Tide. My mother was cooking in our grimy kitchen and reminded me that I had to be ready for the Reaping. We weren't one to follow rules, but avoiding the Reapings had severe consequences and my DNA was subject to the Capitol, so I grudgingly went as if I was one of the other kids every year.

In order to get ready for the Reaping I went into my room, changing out of my usual thieving attire. The dark clothes and hood went off, and when I inspected myself for the briefest of moments in the mirror I was surprised to see how conventional I looked, in my hoodie, brown jeans and sports shoes. My hair was naturally a bright red, as shown in the contrasting roots of my hair, but I had used cheap dye from the black market to subdue the colour into a darker shade of brown. That, along with my small, nimble physique, made stealing come pretty easily to me.

After the five minutes of getting changed into something more casual, I yanked a satin carpet away from the floor and opened the trap door which was in my room. My house was incredibly small and defunct due to its age – it was hundreds of years old and was important during the rebellion. While District Three wasn't an important battle point during the rebellion, many used it to hide important rebels who had fled from District Six, which had been seized, or District Two, which was one of the last Districts standing at the end of the rebellion. My parents used it for something else completely: on the off-chance a guest would visit they'd think we were a poor, defunct District Three family as all the rooms were bare, rotting and full of the most basic of survival equipment.

But when I opened my trap door I was looking into a treasure trove, mountains of coins and miscellaneous objects I had acquired over the years were all piled up. And that was my personal stash – my parents had collected even bigger savings, even more valuable goods and luxurious foods to feed us. I admired my collection for a minute before closing the trap door and quickly rushing out of the room in time for breakfast.

"We have a full chicken," my mother proudly announced. My father sat on the table, looking out of the window longingly as she set the steaming meat down on the table. "I went through a lot to steal this from the market, so you better enjoy it."

My father used a large carving knife to take a huge chunk from the chicken, sliding a plate over to me as he began to slide some more for my mother and I. Most people assumed that a family who lived off stolen goods would be inoperative and crumbling, but away from all the stealing we were a pretty regular family. My parent's marriage was still going strong and I had a good relationship with both of them. I went to school, too, and got okay grades, though I planned to follow in my parents footsteps once I had to provide for myself instead of some flimsy academic root.

"I saw something interesting today," I said through the silence after swallowing a mouthful of chicken.

"Oh, what's that?"

"There's this guy called The Tide – have you read about him?" There was no response as my parents wolfed down the food. It was delicious, no denying it, but I only saw food as a means of survival. "He always writes anti-Capitol stuff. I kind of bumped into him today after stealing from the market."

"You were stealing today?" My mother said, ignoring the conversation at hand. "We thought you'd had a social life for once!" There were a few chuckles and my mother continued: "What did you get?"

"Oh, a lot of credits, just stuff," I said dismissively. "But this guy-"

"Is a nutcracker," my dad interrupted. "I don't really get all the anti-Capitol sentiment. And this is coming from an orphan. The Capitol leave us alone enough, bar the Hunger Games, we should just let them play their silly Games and just... live life," I nodded, though when you noticed the Peacekeepers or the Capitolian businessmen who dominated District Three I wondered if the Capitol really 'left us alone.'

"I guess," I said defeatedly, finishing off my plate. "It'll be the Reaping soon."

"That's great, my mother smiled. "Well, you better be heading off then, when all those parents are out there'll be so many vacant houses that we can plunder."

"Good luck with that," I said, smiling. I know most children would be a little insulted when their parents didn't come with them to the Reapings, but my parents knew that like most of the other parents in the District they'd get away from the cruel clutches of Capitolian entertainment. Any thief with a logical mind would know that everybody in the District had trooped off to the town centre during Reaping day, either with their families or just to witness what was going on.

"Yeah," my father smiled. "We'll be knocking on the door and pretending to be salespeople of a Capitolian television merchandise – _'Get it while the Hunger Games plays!'_ – if someone answers, we'll pretend to sign their names and say we'll see them later. We won't. If no-one answers the door they're off at the Reapings for the next thirty minutes, so we'll break the door down quickly, take what we want and skip the street until we find another suitable house."

"Pretty smart," I said.

"Tricks of the trade," my father ruffled my hair proudly. "Learn them quickly." He checked over his watch. "Anyway, it looks as if you need to set off to the Reapings."

I grumbled something, tried to shake my mother away as she planted a kiss on my cheek, and then quickly rushed out into the streets. There was some kind of folklore that it was always sunny on Reaping day, but in District Three that would be impossible to observe. The skies were always covered with a coating of pollution, and though the sun had managed to soak through sometimes it had never really become hot. We lived somewhere dreary and rainy too, so even if we had clean air I doubt it would ever be sunny on Reaping day.

I lived in a slum. Surrounding me were similarly old, run-down houses with poor children being marched out like ducklings by their frustrated, worried mothers. The whole District poured down the streets like a current, and as the streets grew wider and the buildings fancier we soon became an ocean of people being marched into what could potentially be death.

I had to wait for a good ten minutes at the gates to be let into the town square. I wondered if my parents had managed to get anything nice, or what they were currently doing. Beside me mothers and fathers gave goodbye hugs and kisses, though some of the kids around me watched them with some envy. They were probably orphans, as the orphan percentage in Panem swelled more and more every year.

A boy in front of me who had been parentless had his DNA scanned and was let through, I stepped forward as a thick browed Peacekeeper acknowledged me for a brief second before taking a sample of my blood. There was a flash of pain that was gone before it had arrived, and I indifferently passed into the town square where I settled among a flock of fellow fifteen year olds.

There was about another ten minutes of waiting for the last of the children to rush into the square and find their places. Peacekeepers chatted among themselves, looking at lists of the few children who hadn't attended and what should be done for another five minutes and then the Mayor had made her way onto the stage.

The recent Mayoral elections had given us District Three's first ever female Mayor, an ageing woman in her fifties with a kind smile and tied up greying hair. I didn't listen much to all the political gobbledegook of the District, but I knew that last years Mayor had lost a lot of support after he had passed some unwise economic policies and was caught having an affair. A liberal sigh had crossed everybody when the new Mayor had been a woman and had shifted our economy from being made shit by the Mayor to an economy that was shit thanks to the Capitol. She was the same as any other upper-class person to me; all the highest thieves of all, managing to steal more than any of the petty and looking respectable as she did so. I repeated that again and again in my head with contempt as she read out the Treaty of Treason miserably.

When she was done, she bowed, thanked us and made her way from the stage where she was replaced by our escort, Marukilla Ambumzilla. Was there anything to say about Marukilla? His name was insulted and he had the most feminine strut you could ever imagine. Some people even gossiped that he was once a girl who had transformed into a boy, and though I knew the Capitol had been full of technological miracles I didn't know that it happened to that extent.

"Oh my goodness!" He smiled at everyone cheerfully. "I forgot how beautiful you all were, District Three!" There was a silence, though Marukilla giggled when a few of the boys made joking cheer noises. "I mean, you should have seen the two tributes I got last year, Karble and Dannielle... too bad Danni got her intestines torn out before she was blown up, oh, and her hand was burnt off," he cleared his throat. "B-But Karble got it easier, his throat was slashed..."

There was a piercing silence.

"Anyway, my point is we're all beautiful here!" Marukilla rushed over to the girl's Reaping bowl. "So it's time to select another wonderful tribute for another wonderful Games!"

Unlike other escorts, Marukilla didn't let his hand linger in the bowl. He snatched the slip of paper up hungrily, though what was time consuming was how long he took to open it. Slowly, slowly, until a name was ready out...

"Elizabeth Korrapati!" He paused. "I said your name right, didn't I, dear? Korra-patti? Korra... Patey?"

There was no silence, just some of the people in the crowd surrounding me moving aside to give a girl the room to move. She was around my height and of a different ethnic descent to me. I didn't know the labels they gave to different ethnicities in Panem, because ethnicity wasn't really an issue. In Panem you weren't really an individual or from a culture, you were either a rich Capitolite or a poor District kid, and this poor District kid made her way to the stage with trembling knees as she fought back tears.

"Dear!" Marukilla smiled, giving her a quick hug. "You're wonderful, the Capitol will _love _you."

She didn't say anything, she just turned to face the cameras, trying her best to remain indifferent. While she did, someone in the audience sobbed and screamed loudly. Marukilla knew that it was a concerned mother, and I saw the sympathy cross his powdered face for a few seconds as his stomach tied itself in knots. I didn't care for people too much, but even I felt bad for Elizabeth.

"Is that your family dear?" Marukilla asked. "Go on, give them a wave!"

Elizabeth didn't react, so Marukilla strode over to the boy's Reaping bowl.

"Okay," he tore the paper as if it had come from thin air, strutting to the microphone as he fumbled with the paper. When he got to the microphone he announced: "Let us have a handsome Mr. Trojan Reid up on the stage, please!"

My heart froze.

My name?

People among the surrounding crowd mumbled. Either they were confused because an unknown name had come up, or they were talking about how the quiet kid in the class got picked. Trying to remain as unnoticeable as possible despite the many cameras probing their way towards me from the sidelines, on the buildings and on the stage, I forced myself to walk through the audience where I slowly made my way up the steps and onto the same platform as Elizabeth.

I had reacted slightly differently to Elizabeth, who stood there silently. I was impressed at how she had managed to not cry. But I was managing to not shake, to not make any noise or talk. There was no bedlam in the audience because my parents weren't there to see that I had been reaped. Would they see me in the Justice Building? Would they even know what happened and only find out I'm in the Hunger Games when our compulsory television projects my face?

This could be an exciting opportunity. It looked that way on television, and we were always told it was exciting, but I didn't know how I felt. I just wanted my parents here. For the first time ever I felt aware of my own mortality and for the first time ever I felt very, very scared.

* * *

**Lorelei Draven, District 2, 17:**

I smirked as the fifth knife in a row made its way into the dummy's head, resting comfortably aside the jutting handles of numerous other knives. When I lowered my arm I gave a small, cocky smirk to my trainer, Joana, who nodded with some kind of approval.

"Pretty good Lorelei," she grinned. "You should be going into the Hunger Games at this point."

"I've been considering it," I admitted as I moved over to the dummy, pulling the knives out of the plasticine and torn material. Joana followed behind me as I strutted to the knife rack, sliding some of the knives back into their places. "I don't know – after kind of being involved in all these media scandals recently I guess it would make my dad happy to see me do something, to make him proud..." I paused, feeling something in my stomach as I thought about going into the Hunger Games and my father. Thinking about what I had discovered this morning had also made me nervous. "But I can't leave Jessie and risk dying on him."

I was the Mayor's daughter and it was pretty crap. Once upon a time I was a normal girl who trained with friends and had a dad with a lot of money, but since he decided to be elected I had felt jailed. Rebelling against him had been my coping mechanism – I'd go out and sleep around, smoke, drink, take some kind of hallucinogenic on occasion. I guess I just totally transformed.

Having the media at your father's door did that to you. And it only got worse when the media turned their stupid cameras from your father to you in embarrassing situations. At one point I couldn't handle it, but then I had met Jessie. We'd been dating for about a year and a half or maybe even two years by this point. I guess he kind of kept me to earth and kept me a little bit sane. I could go so far to say that I loved him.

But... After today... I don't know what or how I felt.

"Seriously, you're worried about losing?" Joana leant on the knife rack casually. "You can throw knives like a pro with your hand behind your back – _literally_."

"It's not just that," I said, almost glumly.

There was an awkward pause. "Lorelei, is something up?"

I smiled weakly. "Everything is fine."

"Well if you do decide to volunteer, get up on that stage as fast as you can. You know District Two isn't quite as sophisticated as District Four, who pre-select their tributes, or District One, who are told to shut up once the first person manages to shout that they've volunteered. You run up to that stage before the others. If anyone even tries to get up there before you, elbow them in the face and make sure they're cold. The Capitol loves that."

"Thanks," I said, thinking about how volunteers had been stagnant anyway. Training and loving the Hunger Games seemed to be done out of pure patriotism and social-conformity. Last year there was only one volunteer, the year before there were none and some innocent girl was the one who was Reaped. I spotted Jessie at the training centre door, giving me a sheepish grin, and turned to Joana. "Anyway, Jessie's here. Thanks a lot Joana, I needed some time to just throw knives into things."

Joana chuckled. "Don't do anything too stupid, Lorelei."

I winked at her lightly as I made my way to Jessie. We barely said a word as I approached him, I merely felt my hand meet his as I leant up and kissed his cheek, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach after all this time. It was amazing how a lot of the time we didn't have to talk, we could walk and just enjoy the silence and the atmosphere of each other's company. I guess that I kind of enjoyed that.

"Do you want a smoke?" He asked.

"Nah," I said, sliding my hands into my pockets. I wasn't in the condition to smoke, even though a cigarette was the one thing I felt like I needed.

When we were out of in the training centre and in District Two's dark streets Jessie kissed me passionately and then said: "So, Reaping Day. Are we going to do anything special? Maybe I can take you out for dinner."

"_You _don't have the money for that," I said, stroking down his chest. "But I'll be perfectly happy to pay."

"Hey, I may have a single mother for a parent, but that doesn't mean I can't treat you on occasion," Jessie smiled.

"You need that money," I kissed him again. "I have money to blow. Let me pay? Please. And can we go straight after the Reaping, that way the local journalists and photographers will be transfixed on the girl and boy who are going to be sent into an arena to kill people instead of me for once. That'd be kind of nice."

Jessie laughed. "At least you're not planning to go into those Games. When I saw you talking seriously to Joana, I had some worries."

I laughed, kissing him again. Jessie had often trained in the training centre to get some of the extra income, food and fuel the Capitol promised the poorer District Two kids who trained. He kind of hated it, and especially hated the sense of obligation it gave him to the Capitol, so I was worried he'd crack and volunteer every year like all the other boys who either died of came out of the arena as some kind of savage.

Whilst we kissed some people in the street would turn to look at us, some giving us looks that were kind of disapproving, but I just flipped them the bird. I was kind of used to dirty looks after all of the pictures of me circulating, the rumours and just being the daughter of a political figure kind of got you some pretty bad press.

Just wait until the media found out about a secret I had been harbouring for about two months now, a secret that had been confirmed this morning. What if Jessie found out? It was Reaping day, and I couldn't leave him in the dark. And if my father found out he'd probably kick me out. Years of being one of the most recognised people in the District had meant I could always live under a façade of happiness and kisses with Jessie, but underneath I suddenly felt like a wreck.

"Can we talk?" I admitted seriously. "Like, you know, an important talk."

Jessie smiled. I had acted nonchalantly before now, so this new and sudden side to me must have been weird. "Yeah, is something up?"

I paused. The sun-bathed District Two streets were suddenly affected by a sweep of wind, sending torrents of leaves streaming across our feet as I glanced at him and was consciously aware of the crowds.

"We need to be alone."

"We can go to Crinpin's Wall?"

"Yeah, that's alone enough," I said weakly. Jessie suddenly seemed on edge, and I guess my manner gave it all away; the news I was going to give him wasn't going to be good news.

The sojourn to Crinpin's Wall was long, uncommunicative and pretty awkward. Crinpin's wall was a section of District Two which had been built around one-hundred years ago. District Two wasn't enclosed in one city or a bunch of networked towns like the other Districts, and was instead a bunch of spread out villages. This often helped rebels out during any potential uprising, so the Capitol, instead of forcing the rich and poor villages together and creating social tensions, decided to define District Two's borders clearly.

The wall was about fifteen feet and it rose high above our heads, decorated with moss and numerous crevices where the old wall was beginning to crumble. The winds let the long grass surrounding us wave to and fro as I looked back at District Two, so far away it seemed like a speck of dust, surrounded by the many hills that steepened and rose around us.

As I was admiring a picturesque mountain in the background, Jessie finally spoke.

"This isn't a break up, right?"

"No!" I said defensively, turning to him. His affronted look filled me with guilt, so I elaborated: "I just... I... There's news."

"What news?" He looked as nervous as I did. "Lorelei.. If there's something you want to-"

"I'm pregnant."

The pause was so tense. Jessie was really silent, and he turned to admire the view with me for a second. The only response I got within the next five minutes was the wind blowing harshly as I eagerly awaited my boyfriend's reply.

"Are you really?"

"Yes," I said, surprisingly calm. "Do you think I'd lie about that?"

"And you're keeping it?"

Of course I was. I knew I had to keep it the moment I had taken the pregnancy test and found the positive result; abortions were illegal in the Districts, and to look for one illegally could result in me turning to a doctor who would practice an unsafe abortion which could do more harm than good. When I thought about it, even if abortions were legal I didn't think I'd have one. I mean, there was half of me inside there, and half of Jessie too.

But I was risking everything. There were serious consequences to my pregnancy, which was why Jessie was looking out silently. If I was lower class like Jessie it wouldn't be so bad, it wasn't taboo to have a baby young there, it just happened and I'd be expected to work and provide for it – that was that. But being the daughter of the Mayor... first the media would demonise me. Then my father would disown me for getting pregnant, throwing me out of the house and into the dark world of being independent where Jessie and I would scrape a meagre living trying to provide for the new infant.

Was that a life I wanted? If I had Jessie at my side...

"It isn't mine."

I looked at Jessie, not sure he had just said what I thought. "What do you mean?"

"We used protection," Jessie frowned. "That wouldn't happen. You've been sleeping with someone else, haven't you?"

"No," I stood up, anger flashing in my eyes. "How the hell can you say that? You know I only have eyes for you. Only you. I wouldn't even consider _touching _someone else."

Jessie stood up and stormed towards me. I could usually hold my own, I wasn't afraid to fight or make a sarcastic remark, but when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards him I suddenly felt timid and afraid. Jessie wasn't as good as hand-to-hand combat as I was, so even if he was stronger I could probably floor him, but I only whimpered as he pulled me close.

"Who is it?"

"Jess-"

"Who is it?" He roared, looking at my teary eyes.

"I told you," I said, forcing myself away and looking at the sore red marks that enveloped my wrist. "This is yours Jessie. Why are you doing this? Are you scared? I'm scared too, I don't know what to do," my lip trembled and it suddenly became hard to stay upright. "B-But I thought I had you, I thought w-we could pull through this together, we could do something."

He became more gentle, his look almost sincere. He then turned away and I used a pile of rocks close by as I seat, I needed to sit down, I needed to actually inhale the plentiful fresh air blowing around me. I needed to learn how to breathe, I needed to hold in all of the repressed tears.

"We can't pull through this together," Jessie simply said after a while. "I still think it isn't mine Lorelei."

"But Jessie-" The tears began to slip plentifully.

"No. It's... we're over."

I don't know why I didn't protest, I just saw him stand up and then disappear into the horizon, trailing up and down numerous hills and slopes until he had disappeared. At first I looked at my own trembling hands indifferently. I expected things to take a turn to the worst, but to this degree? No matter how hard I tried the tears were impossible to hold in, I watched them slip onto the rocky ground beneath me or onto my own hands, where they'd trickle down my wrists like small canals.

I was alienated. There was nobody there for me now. I thought Jessie would be there. I didn't ever expect him to react the way he did, to just storm out on me. The shock still settled as I tried to comprehend why Jessie, who had always been loving and affectionate, would do that to me? The tears grew more militant, and as I fell to the ground and shook with tears I guess I couldn't hate him for what he had done. He had been born to young parents too and that had led to an unfortunate upbringing so reacting negatively to the whole situation seemed... natural.

But I was still alone and I needed to do something. My dad wouldn't support me, I'd be known as a whore around the District for getting knocked up and not even the father was willing to support me now. Not usually one to cry, I wiped my tears and internally scolded myself, though they still continued to leak as I stood up and glanced at the town centre. I couldn't afford to fall from District royalty to destitution. I couldn't let that happen, not for me, nor my baby.

And that was all I cared about now. Jessie had grabbed my heart and smashed it into a thousand tiny pieces, and though those pieces inside still ached for him, there wasn't any love like a mother's love. All I could bare to think about right now was the baby inside me who needed a mother to be strong, to take risks and protect it.

I think I knew what I had to do.

* * *

"Oh Lorelei," my father frowned as I charged downstairs in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. My face was still blotchy, but I had reapplied my make-up and managed to make myself look a little more decent. "Your mother had ironed and set out a dress for you, you're supposed to be formal for a Reaping occasion, the media are right outside my door."

By the doorway my older sister Piper stood in her cute, frilly pink dress. Gage, my brother, was also dressed formally in a tuxedo that made him look like a more sensible Capitolite. Fashion had never really been my forte, nor something I was particularly interested in. I just enjoyed what was practical and accessible unless it was a party or something.

"Hey, I might not necessarily make you look bad," I smiled at my dad. Usually his challenges filled me with anger, but knowing that he'd probably hate me if he ever found out, knowing he was right about Jessie and just knowing that I might not ever see him again had given me a new appreciation for my father. "After all, I may just be volunteering this year."

My father looked surprised, but pleasantly so. I saw him look at Piper, then at Gage, before he had beamed at me. I had never seen that smile before.

"What do you mea-"

"I mean I'm volunteering."

My father paused and glanced at me, not quite believing his luck. I had always felt like the useless, rebellious child. The only reason my dad probably coped with me was because I was the only kid in the household who followed through with training. Gage was a little genius who did well in school and Piper was always the sweet, respectable and pretty elder sister. My dad seemed jubilant at the prospect that I would do more than be in the local newspaper throwing my guts up or arguing with everyone I came into contact with.

"What inspired this?"

"Just figured this District needs a little more District pride," I lied, shrugging lightly as I moved to the front door.

That was a bullshit excuse. I was doing this because I had a chance of winning the Games, I wasn't too heavily pregnant so the foetus growing inside of me wouldn't be too much of a detriment. I needed to win these Games because it would give me the financial independence I needed to provide for my child so that I could cope with being kicked out of home or disowned by my family. Maybe my father would even keep me and show me some affection, the respect of being a Victor outweighing the stigma of being a teenage parent.

We had waited for my mother and had finally come. She looked as made up as a Capitolian as she strutted down the grand wall with a glimmering blue dress, well made hair and powdered face. She had a bright beam on her face but suddenly grimaced when she looked at me.

"Steele, Lorelei isn't-"

"I know, I know," my father walked up to my mother and kissed her cheek affectionately. "But she'll be volunteering this year, so it doesn't really matter. And anyway we're going to be late, I'm needed at the Reaping, considering the Mayor's job is to read the Treaty of Treason."

We exited into the street and upon walking through our pretty garden, out into the gates, we were attacked by the paparazzi. My mother, Piper and Gage were usually ignored, but the media would always taunt me with their questions or ask my dad about the political climate and the Reapings. Eventually, when they began to get closer and prevent us from walking efficiently, Peacekeepers intercepted them where they continued to shout and take pictures like hungry coyotes.

When we got deeper into the town centre I realised that though I usually hated the slab mason like stone that had infected every building and monument in District Two, but on the Reaping day to the end of the Hunger Games it was almost bearable. Balloons floated around us and disappeared into the atmosphere, bright banners were strewn across and a new life had been added to the District. Too bad that the only time we came together it was about death.

As we got closer to the prepared stage and the gates surrounding them my mother seemed to finally process what my dad had said. There was an anxiety in her that contrasted the carelessness and confidence my father held, so as the large crowds of children that waited to be permitted into the town centre she turned to me once with a frown.

"You know what you're putting yourself in for, right?" She asked.

"Yep," I replied. Death was the thing that came with losing, no biggie. I tried to push the prospect of losing at the back of my mind, but I'd rather die in that arena than have to cope with raising a child in a slum outside of it. The prospect of dying didn't bother me as much as I thought it would – I just didn't want my baby to be harmed.

"Good," she kissed my cheek. My father had already made his way to the stage he loved and Piper was getting her finger pricked and her DNA scanned. "If you have faith that you can win this thing, I have faith too. I love you, Lorelei."

My mother didn't usually say that. I didn't know if the baby was kicking or if my stomach had compressed into itself with emotion. Trying to not let the tears come back, trying not to think about the secrets I held from her or Jessie, I kissed into her cheek I hugged her close. Sometimes it was difficult to remember how much your parents were really there for you.

When I pulled away I quickly skipped over to a male Peacekeeper who jabbed my finger with the most bored expression. As I was let through I noticed Gage, who had waited for me at the other side.

"You never told me you were volunteering."

"Don't pretend to be concerned," I said, ruffling his hair. "Holy Panem Gage, I really need a cigarette."

Before he scolded me for talking about cigarettes I skipped past him and made my way to the seventeen's section. Thanking my blessings that Jessie would be in the eighteens section and therefore far away from me, I prayed to god that he didn't bump into Piper and start a conversation with her. Even then I had the awkwardness of seeing some of his friends in the seventeen's section, including his best friend Max.

I wasn't aware if they were glaring at me or if they were just ignoring me. They would usually talk to me, but their ignorance had told me that they knew me and Jessie weren't an item anymore, so I therefore wasn't worth talking to. I glanced at my own feet nervously and hoped they didn't know the motive behind our separation, because if that happened I'd be judged, a pariah.

I tried not to think about it as my dad made his way onto the stage enthusiastically. He had always held pro-Capitol sentiment, and it was apparent in the way he had delivered the Treaty, with such conviction and love. I personally didn't get rebels or people who were anti-Capitol and anti-Hunger Games; it was something that had happened hundreds of years ago, and was really irrelevant nowadays. If I had lived around the time when the Hunger Games was introduced I'd have been pissed, but they're just something that always happened now.

They weren't a big deal.

Hence why I'd volunteer.

"Lorelei, I've been looking for you everywhere," I turned to the flash of auburn that suddenly appeared besides me. Some of the more awkward people surrounding us glared at my best friend, Fiona, as she spoke through the Treaty and broke the silence. I personally didn't care.

"I was here all along."

"Yeah, I know that now," she smiled a little. "I thought you'd be with Max and stuff but they didn't say anything about you when I approached them. They seemed a little icy. Is everything okay?"

"Just fine," I said, no enthusiasm in my cracking tone. Applause deafened us as my father finished the Treaty, bowed and left. Fiona could only look at me for a few seconds, but I thought of my dad, of Jessie, of all the misfortune that had suddenly caved in on me and threatened to crush my sanity bare unless I did this.

"You're crying-" I wiped the tear from my face.

"No, I'm not," I denied.

Our escort, Fi-Fi, had made her way onto the stage with her silver hair trailing to the floor and her malicious smile intact. She introduced District Two's only Victor, and the most famous Victor of them all, Jynx. Jynx Blackthorne was the pinnacle of Careerdom, having won three Games: her own game and the last two Quells. As you can imagine, she was a pretty big thing in the Capitol, her dyed purple hair and constantly bored expression were both iconic.

"So, we'll start with the girls," Fi-Fi said. Usually the procedures seemed boring and slow on Reaping day, but already she was moving to the girl's reaping bowl and rummaging her hand through it. I had been so distracted in my own thoughts, in my own misery, in trying to avoid Fiona's concerned glare and fighting the tears that made their way onto my cheeks.

I had to volunteer.

Now.

"So, we'll have a lovely Miss Delilah-"

"I volunteer!" I shouted along with another two voices. The people in the audience seemed to look around excitedly to see their potential female Careers; we had been lacking with Careers lately, and some tributes had managed to even find themselves reaped into the Hunger Games instead of willing Careers. This year things had gone a little differently.

But now there was competition, and I had to win. Unlike the surrounding girls I was in it for my baby, for someone else. They were in it to satisfy some superficial desire for fame, beauty or money, or they could have simply been sociopaths. The audience diverted around me as I rushed away and tried to avoid Fiona's shocked expression, and I assisted them by shoving anyone who remotely blocked me.

As I reached the stairs one of the Career girls had made it through, the third hadn't even managed to make it to the stage. The platinum blonde locks of Metella Lipton, a prissy, popular breed of Career, linked a name to the face. She was faster than I was, but I had managed to make it up the stairs with her. As she was in front of me I managed to latch onto a large clump of her beautiful hair.

_No chance,_ I thought as I launched her backwards by her tresses. The audience gasped and cackled with glee as the screaming girl was launched back into the dust and I made my way onto the stage, greeted by an impressed Fi-Fi.

"Wow, that was a wonderful exhibition," Fi-Fi clapped lightly. "So dear, tell us something about yourself?"

"I'm Lorelei Draven," I said as Fi-Fi held a microphone in front of me. My stomach lurched as I improvised. "Some of you may know me. I'm the Mayors daughter. And this year I'm finally going to win."

The adoring audience screamed with glee enthusiastically as I tried to support myself and keep upright, my knees shaking with nervousness. I kind of felt bad for Metella, who was having dust cleared off her by a generous Peacekeeper as she fought back tears.

Fi-Fi eventually shushed the audience and made her way to the boy's Reaping bowl, her spindly fingers snatching a piece of paper and raising it. She didn't even try to create any tension; it was useless in the District where the boy called out would only be a temporary puppet before he was ousted by a hulking Career.

"Okay, let us take in a Damon-"

"I volunteer!"

The boy who volunteered was lucky enough to be the only volunteer this year, meaning he didn't have to beat people up in order to make his way to the stage. As the people surrounding him moved away, I noticed the familiar face of the boy who made his way up to the stage nonchalantly. I didn't know him personally, but I think his dad owned the butcher's shop that my father often went to.

I just hoped that he didn't have experience with butching. But who was I kidding? This way a guy who was huge, standing at a few inches over six foot and packing more muscles than I could ever hope to have. And since I recognised him hanging around the training centre silently that also meant he had some kind of weapon experience. Nothing good could come from that, but I still held the belief I had a chance close to my heart.

"Ooh, another promising tribute!" Fi-Fi strutted over to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder as she towered above her. "Well dear, do tell me your name."

"Jericho," he said, tone blank. He looked silent and deadly. "Jericho Aylin."

"How wonderful Jericho!" Fi-Fi pulled away, storming to the middle of the stage as cameras and lights flashed down on us. "Give a roar for these brilliant tributes!"

On Fi-Fi's command audience roared and cheered loudly, as did the sudden worry in my stomach, the worry that rested beside my growing baby.

* * *

**That's the Reapings over – if you're sad your tribute didn't get a Reaping, I'm sorry, but I'll more than compensate for it. Reapings can just be tedious for everyone, including me :)**

**And wow, you're all reviewing wonderfully! So keep that up!**

_**~Toxic**_


	4. Bravery and Cowardice

_A man can tell a thousand lies,_

_I've learnt my lesson well,_

_Hope I live to tell the secret I have learnt, until then,_

_It will burn inside of me._

– _Madonna._

* * *

**Delilah Fauve, District 11, 15**

"Delilah, why did you go back home?" My mother said angrily as we stormed past the communal orchards of District Eleven. My father could only follow behind us silently, tears streaming down his face. My mother sobbed through her words too, but I refused to allow the tears to slip, I only kept a face of determination and ensured that my hood was held over my face so that any Peacekeepers who entered wouldn't see my long tresses.

In the fields some of the children worked normally, returning back to their work and hard labour as if nothing had happened now that their children, siblings or they themselves had avoided the narrow grasp of the Reapings. The reason we were walking through the sun-strewn streets was because we were making our way to the Justice Building. My parents were crying because their son was the one who had been Reaped this year.

We all dreaded the Reaping day, not because I was at the threat at being Reaped, but because my brother Nathan was. Nate (his nickname) had a rare heart defect. Because of it he couldn't afford to anything remotely strenuous or he was at risk of a heart attack. Without his medication he was always at risk of a heart attack. In the Games he would have no medication, so we knew he'd probably die during the Bloodbath.

"You reply to me young lady!" My mother snapped, her voice getting harsh. She was usually gentle, but the inevitability of losing her son mixed with the fact I had dragged both of my parents home as soon as Nate was Reaped had angered her. Now we were making our way to the Justice Building to visit my brother. "You took us back home for what? To take a _screwdriver? _To take a _knife?_ As if that is going to do any good!" I continued storming towards the Justice Building. "Delilah, you answer me!"

"My name is Lia," I replied, my voice devoid of any emotion.

Soon the Justice building of District Eleven stuck out like a sore thumb behind the stage which my brother had been dragged to. Though it didn't have Capitolian glamour, the fine marble architecture and the gold which glittered from the District Eleven sun made it much more regal than the barren fields and crumbling buildings that surrounded it.

My mother wailed as she walked, my father holding onto her shoulder and trying to support her as she shook with sobs.

"My son... my only son."

"Gaia, we have to keep strong, for Nate," my father hushed her.

"What if we've missed him? What if he's been dragged out into the train station?" She continued to cry as we approached the Justice Building.

"We haven't," my father stroked her hair and she sobbed into him briefly. "I know we haven't."

My parents' marriage had been under a lot of strain for years. They had blossomed from idealistic teenage lovers and left education and life to be together. Kind of a stupid decision, because they were now both poor and miserable with a disabled son and a daughter who they had usually forgotten because they were preoccupied with their own personal problems.

I had barely seen them kiss in years, and though it didn't compensate for the fact Nate had been Reaped and the fact I was going to do something terribly scary, I couldn't help but feel as if there was at least one positive thing about it; sometimes the only thing that could bring us together was tragedy.

When we reached the grand doors of the Justice Building Nate's friends had flooded out of the room with dismayed expressions. I made sure to give them the briefest, most unsure smiles as they passed. They didn't know it, but Nate would survive.

The Peacekeepers would usually demand I take my hood off, but they could see my facial features and therefore reluctantly let me through into the building as my parents came to the door with blotchy faces. I knew the Justice Building vaguely well, so I didn't need Peacekeepers to point me up a small staircase, to the left into a dim, narrow corridor. In one of the rooms I could hear the sounds of a crying family, and knowing that wasn't my brother I slowly made my way to the adjacent door where my brother would be.

When I walked in I made sure to ignore the crimson curtains they swept to the floor like red waterfalls, where they trailed into a pool of rich-red carpet. I made sure to ignore the chair my crying brother sat on, one which was reminiscent to a golden throne. I also tried to blank out the vivid, rich Capitolian paintings that adorned the beige walls.

"Delilah," Nate shakily managed to get himself up stand up as I glanced around desperately. "I thought that you, mum and dad weren't going to come," tears of gratitude welled up inside him. "I thought-"

He seemed a little shocked when I ignored his words, looking at the security camera above us. I had been to the Justice Building only once in a school politics class field trip, and I remembered it being directly stated that each room had one camera. Each room had the glare of said camera looking down on every move any inhabitant inside made, and I wasn't one of those inhabitants.

I quickly gripped onto the rich curtains that fell beside the camera, tugging them experimentally and noting that they didn't fall. Knowing they could probably take my small weight, I gripped onto the material tightly and hoisted my feet against the wall. It was almost as if I were abseiling up, the curtains seemed to be able to manage my weight and I could too as I slowly ascended up the strained curtain, my shocked brother demanding I come down.

Eventually my sniffling parents entered the Justice Building with a look of shock on their faces as I slowly ascended, reaching into my shoulder and shakily removing a somewhat bent, screwdriver. The camera was arm's length beside me, held in place by two tight screws. I slotted the screwdriver between one of the screws and slowly began to twist it.

"Delilah what are you doing?" My mother demanded as she strolled in. "Your brother is being taken to the Hunger Games and you're acting like this! Tell me what's going on!"

"He's not going into the Games," I said, gritting my teeth as I struggled to remain upright. If I were to fall it would be an unpleasant experience, and the slow tearing of material told me that I was treading on thin ice. Slowly I managed to remove one screw, watching it fall at my parents' feet. I ignored the pleads of my family as I continued to remove the other, hoping that it would finally fall.

It eventually fell and so did the camera, smashing into fragments of glass and plastic beside my parent's feet. A tear began to mar the curtain, slowly spreading, but before I was sent plummeting down I let go, crashing to the ground and sprawling across the floor. My parents were shocked by my actions, and watched me stand up and brush myself off.

"Thank god getting a job at those stupid orchards actually taught me something useful," I grumbled.

"Delilah... We're begging you," my mother's voice wavered. "Tell us what is going on, please..."

"It's simple," I paused, looking at all the confused members of my family. "Nate can't go into the Games. He just can't, mum. You and I know that both. And considering I'm a girl I couldn't have volunteered for him. But I need to go in somehow, and I thought-"

"You're not doing that," my father scolded. I carried on talking regardless.

"Nathan and I look almost identical. Even you two mistake us or fail to tell us apart," I turned to each of my parents, hoping that they'd understand my reasoning. It didn't matter if they comprehended what I was trying to do and my motives for doing it: Nate would be walking out of this Justice Building, and as much as it hurt to think about I'd be the one going to the train station and being jettisoned to the Capitol. "The only really telling difference is our hair. I can cut mine short," I removed the knife from my pocket and slid down my hood. "That's why I brought the knife."

"But-"

"The only other difference is height," I frowned. "Nate and I are both incredibly small, his heart defect has stunted his growth and he's only really an inch taller than me. It's not even noticeable." That was a harsh truth. I had always hated my small body, my small, boyish breasts and the way I had barely developed a figure. For once in my life it could prove useful.

"Delilah," my mother pleaded, more tears brewing. "This isn't making any sense, please consider this carefully."

"I have," I said defensively. "I've been considering this the moment he was reaped. I knew I could replace him and considered all the options – the Justice Building is the only place we could stop. The rooms had weak surveillance which I could exploit, I remembered the cameras and conjectured that they were weakly held into place, that's why I got the screwdriver. I brought the door to conceal my face, only showing my features so the Peacekeepers weren't too suspicious. That way Nate could go out when I cut my hair and I stay in."

"And then what?" My father said, challenging me. "There's multiple styling processes, and I very much doubt that when those moments strike you can do very little to hide your gender." He held my confused, overwhelmed mother as she sobbed. "Delilah-"

"I don't know what to do," I admitted. My voice had suddenly turned vulnerable and I lowered my hood, holding the knife against a tress of hair. "But I know there has to be something or some way I can avoid my stylists or bribe them. I might not be strong, or smart, or particularly likeable but I can climb... I-I'm not stupid, I know how to use a knife and when it comes to getting home I will _not _hesitate to kill."

"But you're my daughter," my mother managed to say, temporarily ceasing her cries. To see the pain I was inflicting on both my parents was awful, but one of us had to be taken away and as much as I hated it I knew it had to be me. "And your chances will be so slim-"

"I'm not at risk of cardiac arresting," I replied bluntly. "If I run my heart won't be strained by the tiniest bit of exercise. I know I can't – maybe won't win-" The tears had really started to stream. "But I have a way better chance than Nate."

With that, to symbolise my certainty and my dedication to my brother, I tightened my grip on my dark hair. With a few choppy swings of a knife I was clutching onto some of my hair, making sure it didn't fall to the ground and stuffing it into my large pockets clumsily. My parents didn't do anything, they only watched me cut the rest of my hair up and hacking away at it bit by bit with surprise. In the reflection of a gold ornament behind me I could see what looked like Nate – the hairstyle a bit more choppy, granted, but I didn't feel as if I was looking at myself anymore. In the Hunger Games, I couldn't be myself anymore.

There was a moment of silence. My parents didn't cry, but there were tears streaming down both of their faces as they had observed my act with a compound of admiration and devastation on their faces. I couldn't even see how Nathan was reacting behind me, but I assumed that it wasn't positive.

"And anyway, Nate has always been the sibling you guys adored more," I said, my voice growing vulnerable as I admitted a long withheld truth. I loved my brother – why else would I volunteer for him? But I couldn't deny the nagging resentment that had built over the years, for draining our money and the attention of my parents. No matter how hard I worked to help pay for Nate's medication, even if I dropped out of education, I never felt the affection Nate had. I was the other sibling. Maybe going into the Games would show my parents I could do or be something.

"Don't you believe that for a second," my mother said, speaking out in the silence. She moved closer towards me and I wrapped my arms around her, her arms also finding their way around my body as we sobbed into each other. There had been so many tears leaked today the glands around my eyes throbbed and I dreaded to think how sore my mother's were. "You're my daughter, Delilah. Never think I don't love you, ever."

"I love you too," I sniffled. "And for the millionth time call me Lia.

She chuckled a little. "Okay then. Your hair looks awful, Lia."

My mother pulled away and my father finally spoke out: "So, Delilah, if we're going ahead with this plan Nate needs to wear that coat."

I heard Nate speak behind me, looking a little shocked for the first time. "You're going ahead with this?"

"She has a point," my father ruffled my newly chopped hair and sighed miserably. "I want you to promise me you'll fight Delilah. You're going in there to stop us from losing a child – promise we're not going to lose a child. Not you, not Nate, not anyone."

"I promise," I wiped the tears from my eyes. I needed to find a way to get home, but when only twenty-four people come in and one comes out it way a pretty hard promise to fulfil. Especially when you added Careers into the occasion, but they didn't win every year, and I was pretty certain that they had weaknesses too.

I pulled the coat off my body. Luckily for Nate and I my mother had dressed us basically identically for the Reaping, a cute tradition she loved. When Nate approached me and I slipped him into the coat I couldn't help but admire how much we looked alike. How much we _were _alike. And I realised why I volunteered.

Nate was my other half. I would rather be shattered than have to live with seeing myself die on that screen and feeling responsible for it. I never got the Capitol's desire for the innocent blood of children spilt, but I dealt with it. But when it came to Nate I wasn't going to just deal with it. I would fight to keep Nate alive and if dying was the consequence so be it.

"I wore this at the reaping," Nate tore a silver necklace from his neck and pushed it into my palm. When he raised his hood his hairdo was concealed, his features barely noticeable. "You'll need it too."

"Thank you," I said, closing my hand on the necklace. It was a necklace that held a piece of paper in, it was a slip of paper filled with information on Nate's heart disease, the symptoms, potential allergies and life saving instructions just in case he wasn't at home and he had an accident. "I'll keep it as my token."

"Mum and dad may accept you doing it," Nate said. "But I want you to know you're incredibly stupid." He moved in and hugged me close. "But I love you for it, Lia, I really do love you for it..."

"I love you too Nate," I pulled away and smiled weakly. "Now you have to go. I need to prepare for this whole thing."

My parents left the room with my brother, who was slightly concealed by the hood. When I watched them go I shakily stumbled over to the chair Nate had sat in only moments ago and forced myself to slump into it, shaking with sobs. There was an inner relief that my brother had survived, that I could rest assured he'd be okay, but all of a sudden it was drowning in the certainty that I would be sent into the Hunger Games.

I could only hope that there was some kind of miracle and that the Careers had decided to not volunteer this year. But a Career had won last year, and that usually meant that there'd be a new wave of more optimistic and therefore more brutal Careers. If the rest of the tributes were scrawny, malnourished District kids I could approach the Games with confident. But there were Careers who had unbelievable strength, who had trained with weapons their whole lives. Even without those Careers in the equation there'd probably be extremely smart, cunning or knowledgeable tributes. The District Seven tributes may be great with an axe, District Twelve tributes may be strong from shovelling so much coal and the tributes in District Three may have the ability to create a contraption which would end in me being fried.

I wiped a small tear away as a Peacekeeper came into the room.

"Hey, kid," his voice was relatively gentle underneath his helmet. "It's-"

He looked at the broken, shattered camera stretched out on the patch of floor in front of the door hesitantly before casting me another glance. "What happened?"

"It just fell," I shrugged, feeling relatively nervous.

"Shit, it's the only camera in this place," he removed a device from his belt and upon pressing a button I heard the familiar cracking you'd expect from a faulty radio. "This is MH2, we need an urgent camera replacement in the Justice Building boy's goodbye room." He waited for a reply, and eventually he got one:

"Over."

I didn't understand their language and I was curious as to how the device the Peacekeeper possessed worked, but at least he wasn't suspicious of me. He just saw me as a little boy – he was me as Nate. So, with a heavy heart and a tightening around my throat, I followed the Peacekeeper through.

* * *

Our escort was an orange skinned, tall blonde by the name of Magellan LaMonte. She led my District partner and I from the Justice Building where we were situated to the train station. Flanking us were four Peacekeepers, all holding bulking, intimidating guns as they marched alongside. Though the Capitol didn't value our lives, they followed through with every safety procedure to ensure that we made it into the arena unharmed, and then we would be tortured.

I wondered if they would blow my brains out if I attempted to escape. I had managed to sneak Nate out, but instead of exchanging his life for mine was there something else I could have done? A way to get everybody out? I reflected on every single action I took, on every single potential route and glumly concluded if I tried anything like that the whole family would have been killed. Somebody had to be taken into the Games, and sadly that was me.

"Well, why are we so miserable?" Magellan held a startling umbrella that glittered with luxury diamonds. In this District only the richest could have diamonds, and that was the occasional diamond in a ring or ruby that they treasured in their house. But something as trivial as an umbrella possessed an array of glittering gems which gave off an iridescent air. "Nathan... Willow," she glanced at my younger, slightly taller District partner. "Surely we can be a little happy?"

"Call me Will, please," my District partner replied emptily, nervously running her hand through her boyish hair. She was only a kid, thirteen at oldest, so the fact she had handled being reaped so well was almost inspiring. It made me feel crap for crying earlier while she, a kid, had managed to stay strong.

"Well Will, you'll be absolutely happy to know that the Capitol is to die for," Magellan smiled. "Literally! Our champagne glasses look as if they've been crafted from crystals, in everything imaginable we have luxury woods, gems and commodities. The food is absolutely wonderful, and it never runs out. You can simply eat and eat until your stomach explodes, and if you want to you can just chuck it all out and eat again!"

"Isn't that a waste?" I asked, hearing the sounds of horses' hooves.

"Not when the supply is running out," Magellan smiled.

The horses' hooves became more prominent and the empty eyes residents in the streets turned to look at the grand, white horses who carried a golden carriage. This was where we'd be led to the train station. I stood there, watching in awe. I musn't have been the only impressed one as the citizens of District Eleven had formed crowds around us, only being blocked off by threatening Peacekeepers. Children and even some adults would jump and stand on tip-toes in order to observe the Capitolian marvel.

"Ah, here it is, our ride," Magellan handed me the umbrella. "Strong men can hold the ladies dainty things," she smiled. I was shocked when Willow yanked the umbrella from my palms.

"I'm capable of carrying stuff."

Magellan looked a little shocked, stepping up into the carriage and peering at both of us with a degree of confusion.

"Well... yes, of course."

I followed in the carriage after them, turning to smile at Willow.

"I'm L-Nate, by the way," I paused. "My name is Nate."

Willow gave a weak smile. She was still trying to adjust with the fact she was being carted to her death, but I couldn't help but admire how well the small, youthful tomboy had adjusted to her fate.

"My name is Will," she grinned "And if you call me anything else I won't hesitate to kill you."

I looked at District Eleven start to roll by when the horse pulled into motion. Inside the carriage the silken sheets, the trays of food and the golden diamonds and the rich, ancient décor had probably cost more than my house put together. But I wasn't interested in Capitol luxuries; I instead thought about Will's words, knowing that when you were in a battle to the death the usually sarcastic comments about killing could be pretty damn serious.

* * *

**Giovanni Bescari, District 9, 17**

There were two volunteers in District Nine this year.

People in the outer Districts did, on a rare occasion, volunteer. Sometimes they'd been struggling for money and the Hunger Games was a desperate shot to get it, sometimes they'd be near starving to death and the Capitol's gourmet would keep them alive for another few days before they'd be slaughtered in the arena, sometimes they'd volunteer for somebody they loved – it could be a sibling, a lover, an extremely close friend. Sometimes people in the Districts volunteered, but it was extremely rare.

This year in District Nine there were two volunteers. The first time two tributes from the same District (excluding District One, Two and Four) had volunteered in thirty-five years, and the first time in District Nine history when there had been two tributes who had went up to the stage not by the escort calling out their name, but by choice.

I stayed in my thought as I was led through a dimly lit but imperial corridor filled with towering, thick slabs of wood for doors and surrounded by armies of finely crafted marble statues, all seemingly looking in my direction miserably, almost apologetically. The only light in the room as the Peacekeeper pulled me through was the light that had been filtered into a rose-red shade by the grand stained glass windows.

"In here kid," the Peacekeeper forced me into the room and the door was slammed shut. In my silence I observed the surrounding room: plush armchair where I was supposed to sit, pretty painting and vases. I observed the standard lower-District luxuries in the room briefly before moving to the chair and forcing myself down.

I had volunteered, but it was all that I could do. In the next room I could hear sobs and cries of my District partner who had also volunteered. I could tell from the arguments that seeped through the plaster of the walls that my District partner had volunteered for the girl who had been called in at the Reaping. I used my rusty memory to recall the name, Rita Boulder? Something like that. Was it a sibling? I wondered...

I wish my reasons for volunteering were so straightforward. But they weren't. The reasons behind me volunteering were complex, long winded and had been brewing for the past year, though I had no idea it would lead to this. In fact I wasn't certain myself why I had volunteered. I was always passionate about knowing, about knowing how the human psyche functioned or how things happened the way they did – but here I was, lounging miserably in the Justice Building and waiting for my upset family to greet me and bid me goodbye before sending me off to an inevitable death.

My knees found themselves instinctively curling up at my chest. Before I had been Reaped I was stoic and indifferent, but now a dam had been broken and I was finding emotions flooding through my head in a way I, a keen student of psychology, couldn't really understand. I wanted to scream, to cry, to remain strong and indifferent. I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what.

When the door opened slightly I was dreading the thought of my father or my brother coming into my room and praying to a deity that didn't exist that it was my mother. A mixture of relief and disappointment hit me when I could see my short, slightly gawky neighbour, Francisco. I had always been silent and reserved, never able to make friends when forced into awkward situations or in school. But Francisco was different – I knew the cues of a boy who was loyal, passive and relatively kind. Sure, he worked at my dad's 'pharmacy' and sold 'goods,' but I worked with my dad too, and he didn't really know what he was doing.

I guess in order to explain how Francisco came into my life and how my dad set up a fake medicine store in the first place required my own history: unlike a lot of children in District Nine I was raised in a moderately wealthy family. My mother worked as a psychologist and counsellor, making lots of money by helping those in the Districts with mental illnesses (about half the District) with the money to afford alleviating their mental illness (about a minuscule fraction of the District). My father, however, had always thought of himself as a businessman. For the first ten years of my life everything ran smoothly, granted I had an older brother who had stolen all my parents' attention for being a mathematical genius while I couldn't do the most basic of sums, but everything had all been catalysed when my parents had divorced.

Long, grim story short – my mother discovered that my dad's business didn't exactly fill the ethos standards of your regular shop, inn or pharmacy. The divorce was blunt and messy, with my parents both remarking that they had always regretted marrying each other. Though I denied it, I think I had definitely repressed feelings of worthlessness every time my parents had made such a statement, because it made me feel like they regretted having me; they didn't regret having my brother, Leon, had always harboured feelings of hatred for my mother because he was a textbook narcissist who felt she didn't give him as much attention as my father did. But still, despite everything, she adored him.

Meanwhile my parents had stuck with me and I was divided between them – I stayed in my mother's overly clean, asylum like house on weekdays. Living with just my mum had led to me learn about psychology, the brain, our motivations and what made us act the way we did. I knew micro expressions, symptoms to mental illnesses and other miscellaneous psychological talents such as cryptography and found myself reading people like I had read psychology books. Even when Francisco approached me I noticed the brewing pot of emotion subtly simmering beneath his seemingly indifferent face; fear, sadness, worry... and anxiety? I wondered why he would be anxious.

"Hey," Francisco hugged me lightly and quickly. I wasn't one for physical affection, and my mind was still playing through my brief, short life. "I didn't expect you to volunteer. Will I see you again?"

I didn't respond. I thought of the weekends I spent with my father, when I didn't stay with my mother. My mother knew how to be kind to me, she knew how I felt and was relatively cordial. My father had always shown a façade of affection, though I knew he always had eyes for my brother. I was taught the ways of business, of loyalty, of the illegal trades such as human trafficking, drug trafficking, thievery, conning, assassination, murder, printing fake money, pimping – and though I enjoyed the expensive antiques and the glamorous life surrounding my father I didn't enjoy what he stood for. Compared to my cold, sociopathic brother I wasn't good at it. He had lived with my father and continued sapping every inch of attention from him with his intelligence, which he used to help further my father's business economically and calculate certain probabilities.

One of the many con schemes my father had set up was a pharmacy shop that helped sell illicit drugs. Franscisco had innocently worked here because the illegal trade meant working there gave him a good wage. I had often spent Saturday afternoons with him, talking about memories and psychology. Francisco wasn't intelligent but he had an ability that nobody seemed to have nowadays – the ability to listen.

"I'm going to die," I said matter of factly. My face remained indifferent as always. If there was anything I had to learn through my childhood, it was that indifference was best. " You know that, right?"

"Don't say that..." Francisco frowned, still puzzled. "Vinnie, why did you volunteer? You know that's stupid right?"

"Of course it's stupid, you idiot," I slumped back into my chair, moving my gaze to the luxury carpets beneath and keeping it there. I was just told to volunteer, I was told if I didn't I would surely die.

"Are you angry at me?"

"No, but you're easy to insult," Francisco frowned, always the golden retriever of a friend. "I wish that you'd leave me alone like everyone else."

"You're my friend..." Francisco glanced at me and I felt a flicker of self-worth and gratitude. "After all those conversations at your dad's, after all the times you helped me with my Psych homework... You know I'd always visit you no matter what. You're my friend and I couldn't not say goodbye. But I don't really have long." He smiled up at me lightly. "Left pocket or right pocket?"

Left pocket, right pocket was a game Francisco and I had always played – Francisco had fit into my dad's little gang because he had a mild gambling addiction (every symptom, actually), and would often play poker with candies and chocolate, which he often gave to me. We sometimes asked each other 'left pocket or right pocket?' and gave a candy to the other person depending on their answer before ruffling each other's hair. I had never been one for affection, but that was certainly one of the few affectionate things I had done.

"I'll miss you, imbecile," I smiled lightly.

A Peacekeeper trooped into the room with an official air. "Excuse me Sir," he looked at Francisco. "It's time for you to leave."

Francisco gave me a quick look. "Do you think your parents will give you a token?"

"No," I responded quickly. I knew they wouldn't; my mother was never one for sentimentality, my father was, and often hoarded beautiful, expensive antiques. But he wouldn't hand any of those antiques over, maybe he would if I was Leon, but I was incompetent Vinnie.

"Take this," Francisco handed me a cord, at the end of it was a tooth.

It was his tooth, I almost chuckled at the memory behind the token; several months ago the business had once lost a good bit of money due to a miscalculation my brother had made. Instead of blaming himself or my father, who was also responsible for the stock loss, Leon had taken it out on Francisco by grabbing his head and smashing it into the cash register. Francisco had never held a grudge over it, believing my brother's insipid story that he had tripped even though I knew that wasn't the case and my brother was just a malicious person. After that day Franscisco had kept his tooth on a cord, hoping that one day he'd have the money to get it implanted back in.

"Thanks," I responded, knowing Francisco's tooth should have been in his mouth, not in my palm. Looking at it in my hand almost symbolised the kind of person my father and brother were. "I'll keep it close."

The Peacekeeper gave Francisco a stern look and my friend eventually left, leaving me in relative silence again. Who else could I expect to visit? My mother, my father, my brother... I at least hoped my father would visit. After all, he was the one who had made me volunteer, and I had unanswered questions.

When the door opened again there was a rush of sobs. I stood up, watching my mother struggle to rush towards me in her classy, professional heels. When she collided with me she pulled me into a tight embrace and I held back tears as I held her close, taking in her scent, brushing my hands through her hair briefly and feeling pained knowing I probably won't ever see her again.

"My baby," she pulled away. She wasn't usually so affectionate, so to see her so tearful, to see her act so affectionately towards me was a strange but emotional experience. It's often said families with highly emotional environments increase the likelihood of schizophrenia, but my family were the opposite and this sudden wave of emotion was warm and pleasant. It almost made me wonder how different I'd be if I were raised that way.

"Mum."

Her hand stroked my face, tears tracking down her eyes. "Why would you do that? Why w-would you volunteer and leave me?"

I didn't even have to answer. My mother was perceptive, and when my face faltered there seemed to be this anger the flashed in her wet eyes.

"No..." She paused, trying to comprehend it. "You d-didn't do this for your father, did you? You didn't?" She chewed her bottom lip lightly. "He made you volunteer, didn't he?" Her voice grew louder. "Tell me _now _Giovanni!"

"Yes, I did."

My mother turned around slowly to see what I had seen. My father stood there, cigar in mouth, his stubble-lined strong jaw clenched. The silver fox looked so nonchalant for someone who was supposed to lose his son – I searched his face for any emotion: distress, distraught, pain, but there was only cool and calm. Beside him two bulky bodyguards strolled forward at his tempo, one of them cracking their muscles in a bored manner.

"Dion," my mother greeted him coldly. "This is all your fault, isn't it?"

"It's not my fault," my father exhaled some smoke. "This is my attempt to save Vinnie's life, sweetheart."

My mother inhaled, trying to use calming techniques she had been taught and had applied to other people throughout her career as my father approached. When she moved towards him swiftly it didn't work, and I heard her scream of angst as she approached him.

"_Saved his life?_" She snarled, sending a slap across his face. "That's a pretty stupid way to do it, you bastard!"

I stood paralysed, unable to help as she went to launch another, more solid attack at my father's face. One of the body guards had barely managed to intercept her hand, and managed to hold her back from my father. Still, she fought hard to hurt him even when the other body guard had tried holding her arm behind her back. She pounded at my father's chest, screaming profanities. When the bodyguards dragged her across the carpet and out of the Justice Building I felt my insides slowly compress myself into nothingness, especially when I could hear her scream my name in the far background.

My father cupped his reddened cheek carelessly once her screams had faltered. I was alone with him, still searching for any signs of emotions, even the most brief microexpressions.

"Now I know why I married her," he said, letting a cigar fall to the floor and lighting another up quickly. After inhaling the first blow of tobacco he continued: "They clean this place, right?"

I didn't respond. I watched him walk up to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with a hint of affection. But I remained standing, paralysed, not knowing quite what to feel or to think about what I had seen.

"I wanted to say goodbye to my mother."

"You probably will," my father grunted. "Leon made some estimates and-"

"Leon always makes estimates," I said, stiffly, withdrawing from my father's touch finally. My father had always been a figure who had protected me, even after the divorce he had always seemed there, always seemed ready to help me and always preparing to involve me in his affairs (even if Leon did get top priority). But since Reaping morning had happened as every second went by I only felt more and more seconds of disillusionment sink into my neurons like sodium ions. "It was his estimates that had got me here in the first place, wasn't it? Where is my brother? Not visiting his sibling before he's _sent off to die _by his father?"

My father's expression flared up, though he remained collected. "Son, you know business comes first."

"You always told me family comes first," I sat down, looking at my feet. When it came to my dad it seemed money did come first.

"They do, but," my father frowned. It was the first proper sign of sadness he had shown, and it was genuine. "I told you why you had to volunteer this year son – I did it to protect you."

"I don't understand how sending me off in the Hunger Games can protect me."

My father knelt down, looking me in the eyes. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey, and there was an urge to slap him like my mother had previously as he put on that charismatic, fake kindness: "I ought'a do some explaining, right?"

"Right."

"I told you this was linked to the fact we had killed the son of that crime family, the Tortegas," he frowned. "Because Leon calculated it was the best way for our family to continue functioning whilst weakening their family in the process."

I remembered that boy's murder. He was innocent, and at the time I had witnessed my father drive a bullet through the boy's brain. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now I was filled with disgust. Through the silence I nodded, signalling him to carry on:

"But they caught onto everything, they caught most of our men and held it hostage, threatened to report all of our illegal stores and trades to the Peacekeepers," he rubbed his temples and sighed. "They had no evidence that we murdered the boy, but they knew, we lost the gamble and the odds were against us," he looked up at me and sighed. "Before they destroyed everything I had a meeting with the leader of the Tortegas. I tried everything Vinnie, every compromise before I had to settle for one thing: blood for blood. A son for a son."

"You traded my life," I said. The shock shouldn't have filled my tone. "So why am I in the Justice Building and not being led to some kind of gallow?"

My father grabbed my hand passionately. "Because you're my boy, I wouldn't just let them kill you. I made every loophole I could. They said that instead of killing you directly, they'd accept you going into the Hunger Games as the blood payment. So I told you to volunteer. I know you're scared son," I didn't show my fear, I was stone faced. "But Leon calculated that one in twenty-four was better than no chance at all. You have a chance, and I have faith in you, Leon knows you have a chance."

"Leon's last calculation failed," I glared up at him. "He uses these faulty formulas that can only estimate. He may be a mathematics wizard, dad, but you're stupid for expecting him to calculate real life perfectly." My father's grey eyebrows lifted up a notch. "He can only make guesses. And because of his guesses, I'm going to do."

"No," there was defiance and denial in my father's tone as he clasped my hand. "You're not-"

"I am," I frowned. "Because it isn't as simple as one in twenty four. That girl in my District volunteered, she'd only do that if I had a chance," I paused. "I could die of cold, starvation, dehydration, illness, exposure..." I paused. "There are Careers so brutal they'd make your henchmen tremble. And kids who are probably better and smarter than I am," for someone usually so stoic emotion was reigning my tone, the fear of death we all had. "It's not as simple as one in twenty four. Add those factors and it's much more slim than that. Why didn't you just let me die?"

"Son-"

"Yes?" I said, coldly.

"Don't act like this son, please," my father tried to smile reassuringly. Though he didn't dare cry, I could actually see sadness in his face. I had woken him up to the true realities to the Hunger Games, to his own personal silly games with Leon's silly calculations which had led to the deaths of so many. "I'm your pops, I'm here to protect you."

"It's too late for that," I replied numbly. "It was too late when you shot that boy."

"Grab some food at the cornucopia," my father glanced at me seriously. "I taught you how to handle weapons, guns, knives, you can handle them well son," he tried patting my back, though I only glared at him. "You can use them. Then run, kill anyone in sight, maybe find a clever ally-"

"How many corpses have been told this same old thing?" I interrupted.

My father groaned, leaning forward and burying his head in his hands for a second. I paused, awkwardly watching him sit there in silence, releasing what seemed to be the ghost of a sob. When he withdrew, however, his face did not hold any trace of blotchiness. I watched him fumble around in his pocket for a ring, and when he removed it and held it out I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"This is your grandfather's, my dad's," he smiled weakly. "I want you to take it with you, and when you win you know I'm always right, and that I'll always protect you."

"I have a token."

My father paused, biting his lip, about to speak before a Peacekeeper came in and disturbed any potentially awkward confrontation.

"Sir, you've got to go now. The District Nine male is to be escorted to the train now."

My father cast me one last look before placing a ring-covered hand on my shoulder and smiling charmignly. "Okay son. You know that I love you, right?"

For the first time I conjured the anger to defy my father, I conjured the bravery to be angry at him in the first place. And holding back tears I glanced up at him defiantly.

"No."

* * *

**I usually hate Justice Building chapters, but these tributes were so interesting to me that I actually enjoyed writing this one! The problem was Lia's chapter, because I honestly struggled to understand how her family would comprehend that, I hope it didn't seem stunted.**

**I think this is the last reminder about my story: My story is T, though it borders on M. I'm not afraid to explore pretty dark themes. And being the Hunger Games, there's gore, swearing and sexual references. Oh, and drink and drugs, lots of that.**

_**~Toxic**_


	5. Head and Heart

_There's no time for us_  
_There's no place for us_  
_What is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away __from us?_

_- Queen_

* * *

**Conifer King, District 7, 14**

Our escort, Edoire, was a pretty dumb and oblivious guy. After we were escorted into District Seven's barren train station he led us towards a sleek train which seemed larger than my house. My District partner stood beside me, looking on almost indifferently at Edoire pressed his hand against a pad and sleek doors slid open.

"Wow," I said, not usually one to talk but being taken aback by Capitolian technology.

"You're impressed by that?" Edoire smiled. "Dear Panem, you District children _are _technologically deprived!"

He was right when he said that was nothing compared to other Capitolian goods, stepping into the train was like stepping into a future heaven I had been unaware of my whole life. I had never imagined a train to possess rich décor, such as paintings, statues, carvings and well organised bouquets lying dormant in their vase. There was something grandiose on every corner.

I pinched my arm lightly to test if I was dreaming – we all knew that the Capitol was well stocked, but not with showers of champagne or starlets of diamonds glittering amongst lights that snaked through the ceiling, making the train much more well-lit than the shacks for houses we'd have in District Seven. And my family were considered moderately well off.

But I wasn't dreaming, I felt the mild twist of pain in my arm, but I had forgotten in the midst of the glamour and technology that this wasn't a dream in the first place. And I saw Hadley's expression beside me – he wasn't impressed by Capitolian art, science or life, which is why he looked so numb when he followed Edoire down the lush corridor that seemed to serve no purpose other than look pretty. I was going into the Hunger Games. This was a nightmare.

I guess the Capitol enjoyed playing with your emotions. They weren't even kind enough to treat you like a soon-to-be murder victim; after the tears followed after my Reaping, after feeling my heart be crushed into bloody rubble, the Capitol's plan was to drown me in their gluttony and pamper me so that I felt like the most secure person in the world. Entertainment wasn't always seeing kids screaming – the Capitol wanted me to smile, to laugh, to fall in love and feel whatever positive feelings there were, they wanted the country to witness that. But that was only a mirage, they'd push me up in order for me to experience the biggest down possible.

Maybe Hadley looked so miserable because no amount of prettiness or luxury would remind him that this was a fight to the death. And that was the wise decision, so as Edoire led us past a sundry assortment of expensive art pieces, lush furniture and rooms that would probably never be occupied, I made sure that the same indifferent scowl crossed my face.

Soon we reached the room we were designated in. It was a mirror-reflection of previous rooms, though there were four sleek chairs, all red and squishy and facing a large holographic projection that came out of the television. It was currently just projecting the Capitol logo, and I wondered what its purpose even was.

Edoire turned to us and clapped his hands together, smiling. "So-"

He looked disappointed.

"Hadley, you look like you're going to cry, sponsors don't like that," he patted Hadley's short, neat hair with a sigh and looked at me. "And Conifer, I thought that you were better than this, you seemed so bedazzled prior to us coming into this room! Now you're scowling, well, I've got a little secret, scowling is illegal in the Capitol."

I kept my stubborn glance fixed upon him.

"Capitolian artwork is pretty," I said. "But nothing can be beautiful under a thick layer of blood."

Hadley glanced at me, just once, with a shyness in his eyes. But in that glance there was also some admiration.

"Oh dear," Edoire picked up a pre-prepared cocktail which lay close, taking a sip from it before setting it down again. "You're one of _those _tributes, aren't you? We have one every year and I just happen to have it." Edoire looked at me very seriously. "Do you want to know something serious? What you say can get you killed. And the Gamemakers will target you if they hear it again, and you will die. So I'm going to leave the room for five minutes to powder my nose before the Reaping replays are on and when I come back you'll be fine and happy. Okay?"

"She'll be okay," Hadley said next to me. It was the first time he had spoke. Edoire glanced at Hadley, then at me. "I'll make sure of it."

"See, the boy besides you is sensible," Edoire smiled and picked up the cocktail. "Now I need to just pop out very quickly. Feel free to call an Avox if you want anything – biscuits, fatty foots, cake, alcohol, morphine and titanine," he shrugged and headed for the door, which slid open automatically as we approached, but turned to face me. "And remember Conifer, you're famous now. Watch what you say."

After the sound of the doors sliding tightly closed again I slumped into the comfortable chair, which let me take my weight perfectly and sink into soft sponge. Hadley sat beside me quietly, watching some violet fire crackle around the fireplace lightly. Hadley didn't really seem like he wanted to talk, and I didn't want to talk either.

I stared into the fire contemplatively, holding back tears when I thought of my family back home. A quick glance at the window and the flash of green trees and fields passing by had told me that we were moving, though it felt as if we were completely still. I wondered how many miles away I were from my family and friends. One hundred? Two hundred, perhaps?

My family and I had never really gotten on. Not that there were personality clashes or I hated them – that was far from the truth. I was just a hormonal girl going through puberty who was too stubborn and easily angered. And now when I looked back on everything I really regretted lashing out at my humble father, or insulting my kind, smiling mother. My brother, Sequoia, was also a sweet boy. I wondered if I'd ever see them again.

"What you did was kind of brave," Hadley finally said.

"Thanks."

"It was also kind of stupid."

"I guess it was."

Hadley was kind of different to me. The fires of boldness didn't burn bright in like they did me and he was much more introverted. Still, at least he was attempting to bestir some kind of conversation. Desperately clutching for words, I managed to strike up some kind of conversation.

"So, I haven't seen you in school before."

"I don't really go anymore," Hadley frowned. "I kind of lost the motivation. When you get to a certain age situations change, and so do people," Hadley frowned. "Haven't really had the opportunity to get a job, to make new friends. I think I'm just too shy," he laughed lightly. "It's a bad thought, but sometimes I think maybe it's better I was Reaped-"

"Better?" I instinctively pulled a face. "How can this be better?"

"When I go no-one will miss me," Hadley glanced at me. "You remembered the last few people who died? Violet was popular, and the Sperren guy was just kind of forgotten as quickly as he was remembered because... well, he was reserved like me, but at least he was tough," Hadley sighed. "And the year before that there was Vivienne? I think that was her name, and Falrey, and the District collectively mourned her. But some people are kind of bound to be forgotten. Hell, we're all going to be forgotten at some point."

"Don't say that," I frowned, feeling a little depressed. "You can complain about growing up, losing your friends, living off your parents, but at least you _had _the opportunity to grow up. I'm fourteen years old."

Hadley looked at me intensely for a second, only just realising the contents of his words.

"I'm sorry," he stumbled and stuttered over his words. "Th-that was inappropriate."

I wanted to still be angry at him, and thus slumped back and turned the opposite direction, admiring a particularly dull cabinet.

"It's okay," I sighed after five minutes of silence. "I guess you're not exactly sixty years old with a fruitful life. We're both too young."

Before Hadley could reply the blank projection that came out of the television slowly shifted; the pixels reassembled themselves in a blink of an eye to reveal television footage of soldiers marching to the death, of wasteland and explosions before slowly shifting to reveal a typical female Capitolian news reporter with slicked up blue hair. Her eyes were boring into me seriously and her thin lips slowly began to talk:

"More updates on the Panemian-District Thirteen war," she announced. "Though many brave troops have fallen, District Thirteen are at the losing end of the battle. They have fortified their territory well, though with heavy artillery and advanced technology we, the forces of Panem, are slowly moving closer to the city. There have been many questions poised from citizens such as: What do we do once we take over? Annihilate District Thirteen like we had two-hundred years ago? Take it as our own territory and use their natural resources efficiently? Though we're definitely set to win the war, there are still uncertainties," the news reporter gave the camera one last serious look before announcing: "That's all there is with the evening news, I'll take you to Caecilius Norton."

Caecilius Norton, an attractive and charismatic figure took up the screen, various news bulletins hovered alongside him, all boasting the Capitol's many successes and showing statistics on various production increases.

"You'd think the Capitol would be smarter than that," Hadley said calmly. "Than going to war. It's barbaric."

"It happens. It's kind of natural, animals fighting all over their territory."

Hadley paused for a second and then sighed. "Sometimes the things are natural aren't always righteous. That's what my mother told me."

Hadley quietened immediately after mentioning his family. I had seen him at the Reaping, stumbling to the stage and trying his best to fight back the abundance of tears seeping behind his eyes. Mentioning his family had almost set him off again. It was always seen as a weak thing to cry during the Reapings, but I knew that everybody had probably cried.

During the Reapings I had held back tears. I had managed to keep the cool, confident façade. Maybe the Capitol would even see me as sponsorable despite my age due to the stoicism I had imitated. But that didn't mean deep inside I was holding back all that pain of knowing I was in danger, and despite the comfort and gold surrounding me I acknowledged that I was in danger, every move had to be calculated and not doing so would end in my death.

The television immediately kicked into action again, the flash of bright colours belonging to each individual dyed braid possessed by Leein Malpin was in sight. Leein was in charge of making commentaries through the Hunger Games events and would later be the one to announce feasts, twists etcetera. He gave us his best smile, holding sheets of paper in his hands.

"You've all seen the wonderful Reaping," he told us matter of factly. "That was three hours ago. Now it's time to look at a recap with wonderful commentary provided from me. Here we go!"

A glittering emblem from District One filled the screen and the well polished streets, wooden floor and grand, glittering town centre came into view. The Reaping began with a shocking start, one I wasn't used too – there wasn't a volunteer. Everybody merely watches as a girl was called on stage – she had a pretty face, black hair and a lot of innocent to her. She was originally calm when she made her way to the escort, but upon realising that she was Reaped she descended into a state of shell shock. My gut twisted, and I felt bad for her.

District One's boy didn't disappoint (or in my case it was disappointing) quite as much. A boy volunteered. I even noticed Hadley lean up a little when the confident boy stroke onto the stage with a sly grin on his face. Hadley was short – I mean, I was around his height and was the same size as him, but this guy was even shorter. And he wasn't a mass of muscle either. He wasn't your typical Career, but something in his grin disturbed me deeply.

As the tributes' names were announced – Lexie and Pullox respectively – the District Two's stony emblem flashed onto the screen and dissolved to reveal the more bland streets belonging to the famous, tough District. Banners supporting the Hunger Games were strewn high, and there were even balloons and confetti. Immediately when the escort plucked out the girl's name three girls volunteered. A dizzy blonde girl knocked out one of the competition with a strong punch and managed to get to the stage first, though she was quickly intercepted by a darker haired girl who was surprisingly unglamorous for a Career; just jeans and t-shirt. She grabbed the girl's blonde mane and launched her into the dirt, storming onto the stage victorious.

So she was the competition. And she seemed tough too, looking out at her audience triumphantly. The Mayor who announced her looked shocked, and I knew it was a relative or family friend, which could be an advantage for her. Then a tall, hulking piece of muscle that more than compensated for the small, thin District One boy made his way onto the stage almost nonchalantly. There was a kindness to his face, though I didn't let it deceive me.

The sound of the door sliding closed came up behind me and Hadley and I both turned to see Edoire stroking a brush through his hair, forcing himself onto the couch with a glazed expression.

"Powdering your nose?" I frowned. "Was that some kind of euphemism?"

"Just keep watching the TV," Edoire said defensively, wiping his nostrils quickly. "Now, how are they all so far?"

"The Careers look like they can rip me apart," Hadley said. On the television District Three's grimy surroundings could be seen, and though she remained strong she was still visibly trembling. The boy was called up, though he was so unremarkable I almost ignored him. As comments were made about the District Three tributes, whether they were promising, and they weren't considered it, I turned to Edoire and Hadley.

"Well there are the Three tributes," I said rosily. "And the One girl wasn't a volunteer. She didn't look too fierce."

At the most ironic moment the emblem of District Four was projected before us, slowly descending into establishing shots of the District's pure, rolling waters as they hungrily lapped across the golden sand of the District's beaches. When the camera finished rolling across attractive palm trees and villas, the shot was turned to the pure District's stage, and the crowd waiting for it.

The volunteer was a guy, hulking, somewhat attractive and with muscles. And he was a volunteer. He kind of ticked every box of the victor's checklist, and gave the audience a dazzling smile after making his way onto the stage with a self-assured swagger. My tower of optimism immediately came crumbling down, and I noticed Hadley's jaw clench beside me. His mouth opened and closed aimlessly like a goldfish, though any words he tried to communicate didn't come out.

It got even worse when it was the female's turn to volunteer. The chubby, blonde hair escort had called out the name of an innocent pipsqueak of a girl, though someone stormed out and with the simple push of her hand sent the poor thing screaming and flying through the air. I couldn't forget her face and the way her blue eyes lit with malice. Her matted, curly blonde hair seemed to bounce with her enthusiastically as she made her way to the stage. The guy on the stage was an impressive Career with his impressive muscles and great height, but her muscles were more impressive and her height even greater. She even managed to make him look small and thin.

"I'm Honora," she said to the escort happily. "But please, call me by my full name. Honora _Cashmere _Floyd."

I don't think I could have forgotten her name if I tried.

"And you were saying about the weak tributes?" Hadley said, giving a slight, nervous chuckle.

"Well..." I paused, struggling to swallow. My throat had become incredibly dry and the reality of competition had given me a light tremble. "At least we can trust her to kill off the weak tributes..."

To kill off the weak tributes. Hadley and I weren't exactly action heroes; I didn't know about him, but I could just about handle an axe, and I knew I wouldn't bury it into her. Even if one of us survived, someone in this room would be dying during the Games. I wondered who my killer was, and prayed that if I were to have a killer at all I wouldn't be put at the mercy of the hulking girl who stood on the stage and waved to a cheering audience.

I was almost relieved when it cut away to District Five; District Five's emblem cackled amidst a wave of electricity before there were generic shots of the District's factories in action, throwing out steam as they produced energy, muttations and whatever else the place was responsible for spawning out. The camera slowly rolled through the District before finding its mark on a crowd full of terrified children.

The girl who was called up was pretty unusual – I mean, I know I didn't laugh when my name was called out by my escort. However, the laughter was still nervous, and the pale girl looked around desperately as if looking for a means to escape. A called out tribute had never escaped Reaping before, so she was merely intercepted by Peacekeepers and dragged out onto the stage, where she looked on dejectedly.

Relieved that the competition wasn't as tough as I expected, I reached for some Capitolian chocolate and grabbed it, though I found myself dropping it as soon as I saw the boy be called up. He was strong, as tall as a Career and made his way onto the stage without a care in the world. To boost he was dressed up in familiar dirty, orange garments. The garments that belonged to a convict. It was terrifying to know they weren't exempt from the Hunger Games.

Then District Six made its way onto our television screens – generic emblem, generic opening shots, and then the camera made its way onto the screen. Like District Three, District Six just didn't seem too remarkable. The girl who was called up cried and pleaded with the escort. A Bloodbath for sure. As for the District Six guy, he seemed pretty average too, though at least he had managed to retain any tears.

But something about his Reaping disturbed me. The way his family's cries pierced the air, reminding me of my own. In every Reaping a tribute (that didn't volunteer) always had their family cry, scream and beg for their life helplessly from the sidelines, but the boy's family were louder than ever. All those cries continued reverberating in my mind when the Reaping recap ended and the television plunged straight into useless advertisements.

"We'll switch that off now until the next Reaping recaps in..." Edoire switched the television off and checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes." His head perked up and his smile was so wide it could have touched his hairline. "So, what did you think?"

"The Careers are impressive," I admitted. "More impressive than ever – I mean, they're always impressive. Last year we had a typical One girl, a District Two boy that wasn't the most formidable combat-wise, a girl who didn't even volunteer and the Fours were wiped out as soon as they took centre stage. Similar situation the year before that, and the year before that the Careers were stupid enough to let themselves get poisoned."

"Yes," Edoire nodded.

"This year the Careers – well, apart from the girl – all the guys looked tough. The one boy short and stuff, but he looked pretty cunning and ready. The Two girl looked strong and need I say anything about the District Four girl?"

Hadley stood up, looking a little breathless. "I think I need water..."

"Okay," Edoire grabbed Hadley and forced him back down on his seat. He forced another smile, moving his hands through his short afro. "I'll get you your water. That's enough about the big scary Careers, Connie," I wanted to correct him, but Edoire continued lecturing me: "We want some more optimistic input now, you know, input that makes it sound like you or Hadley have a real shot at this."

I shrugged. "I don't know. The Three tributes seemed pretty unremarkable. So did the Five girl, and the Sixes."

Hadley looked at me defiantly for the first time. There was a strength in his voice, a confidence I had never heard before:

"Don't be too sure of that..." I looked at him questioningly, demanding more of an answer. He cupped his forehead, trying to retain his morning breakfast. After regaining some breath, the paling boy continued. "It's stupid to underestimate tributes. They may seem unremarkable, but the most scary thing about these Games is we just _don't know_. We don't know how strong a tribute is, or how smart they are. The people we dismiss could very well be a potential ally – a potential victim – or a potential..."

"Killer," I finished, pausing.

Hadley wasn't victim material, but his speech had reminded me that I wasn't to underestimate him either. He turned and nodded at me, prompting Edoire to smile falsely again.

"And with that, Hadley, I will get your water," Edoire moved out of the doors, which automatically slid open for him. He was obviously avoiding any negative aspects of the Games, and I wish I could too, but when I was the one being sent into the arena that was impossible.

I was always a realist. Now it was time to put that to use.

* * *

**Mirane Saffell, District 8, 17**

My District partner, Darius, was still in the train carriage with the television on when I returned. Out of a distinct curiosity I decided to investigate the bedroom I'd been given before we would be carted off into the Capitol to be trimmed and styled. It was pretty amazing – showers with thousands of buttons lining the walls, beds bigger than my rooms and a closet filled with dresses that had been adjusted to my measurements perfectly.

I think Darius noticed the dress I was now wearing, it was white and seemed to glitter with diamonds that had been sewn in. When I walked it flowed behind me like glittering air, making me feel a lot more regal and impressive than I actually was. The whiteness of the dress complimented my ebony skin and brought out the features of my face. It was definitely a step up from the white shirt and velvet pants I had been given to wear at the Reapings. I wasn't particularly vain, but I knew I had to look good and wear impressive dresses everyday to get the attention of sponsors. I wasn't interested in romance, but I knew how to flirt to get attention

"Y-You look nice," Darius smiled weakly. He was an awkward kid who would avoid conversation, which was good because I'm pretty asocial myself. He was about a year younger and the same height as me. I had pretty good gut instinct and knew he was generally harmless, the fact he kept stumbling over his words told me that well enough. I kind of trusted him.

"Thanks," I said, looking at the basic, slightly dirty clothes he had been given. "You look-"

"Not too good," he smiled weakly. "I know."

While I had been silent and aloof Darius had remained the same, I looked at him tentatively. It seemed the more outgoing and confident I appeared, the more prepared he was to be outgoing, though there was still an uneasiness about him.

"You can't be prepared to be like that," I said.

"Like what?"

"To put yourself down like that," I stood up, sweeping over to a tray of drinks. There were jugs on the tray filled with sundry juices that seemed to fill the whole colour spectrum, some containing the juices of fruits I'd probably never even heard of. I poured out a purple cup and took a sip, turning back to an intimidated Darius. "In the Hunger Games, you really can't afford to doubt yourself."

I took a sip of the drink only to find my taste buds attacked by an inferno of sweetness. I didn't know if I liked it or not, but found the juice was actually quite delicious after a second sip. After lowering my cup I noticed Darius wasn't talking to me and suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. I wished I could socialise better, and often when I tried to genuinely socialise it seemed as if I was merely brushing someone off.

"How long do we have before the second half of the Reaping recaps start?"

"Five minutes," Darius instinctively looked for a watch, though found himself disappointed. If someone wanted to bring a watch in the train it would have to be as a token. "I think five minutes, anyway."

"Cool," I poured Darius a glass of the purple substance, holding it in my hand and smiling. "We can have a brief talk," the word talk tasted bad on my tongue. It was something I didn't want to do, and something Darius didn't want to do either, but when it came to the Hunger Games you couldn't afford to sit there and be silent. "About ourselves."

"Why not," Darius said with a brief smile, accepting my drink though being reluctant to actually take it. He gratefully took a small sip. "My name is Darius Cortez-"

"I got your name from the Reaping," I lingered over the uncomfortable memory and I could see Darius' features sink too. There was an awkward silence, but I continued: "Mind if I call you Cortez?" I asked.

"Uh... Yeah, go ahead," he permitted. "I forgot your name-"

"Mirane," I paused, not wanting to give away too much information. "Mirane Saffell."

"Saffell," Darius' eyes scrunched in concentration. "Like Deputy Mayor Saffell? You're related?"

I laughed and took a sip of my drink, nodding lightly, trying to keep a light and perhaps even flirtatious air even if it filled me with discomfort. "Yeah, you got that right. He's my dad. He's... Alright," I lied. Even though I'd miss him terribly, I would be lying if I said I was close to him. "Always busy." And conceited, arrogant and stupidly pro-Capitol.

"I can imagine that's pretty..." Darius thought about his words. "I don't know, crappy? I couldn't imagine not being close to my family."

"Oh," I made sure my usually quiet laugh was loud and tinkling. I gave him an almost sly look over my cup of juice, taking a sip. "You're a family man?"

"Man – boy – yeah, something like that," he chuckled nervously, not liking my approach. I immediately adjusted my body language so that it felt more casual, hoping Darius would relax a little. I think he trusted me, but he wouldn't let loose. "My mother is always there for me, my father can be more tough but he's honest... and... I appreciate that I guess. And I'm close to my sister too, I mean even if we fight..." His lip trembled and he forced himself to take a sip of his drink. "I'll miss her..."

"Do you have many friends?"

"Me?" Darius looked alarmed. "Well – I – I have one friend. She's been my friend for two years now, and we've been pretty inseparable." I remembered hearing a girl cry out Darius' name from the crowd. "She's one of the most amazing people I've ever met, and... I don't know," he sighed. "Being Reaped is just... hard... knowing I'll never see my family again, or her again."

"Sounds like a crush."

"It's not like that."

I nodded understandingly. Darius trusted me to open up, so I guess I'd open up a little bit more. "I have a mother too. And then a twin sister whose my opposite, she's bubbly, fun, always doing something," I smiled, taking another sip of my drink. I noticed Darius conformed, drinking exactly after I did. "I honestly spend more time than with my baby brother. He's ten months old."

Tentatively I took the locket from my neck and handed it over to Darius. Knowing what it was, he slowly opened it and peered at the picture. It was a family photo of mine, showing my father with his charismatic smile, holding my mother as me and my twin sister, Lace, held our baby brother together. He was ten months old now, but in that picture he was just newborn.

"That's adorable," Darius smiled. "He's so cute. I wish I had that as a token, mine is just a writing pen. But I do consider it lucky."

"Hm? You enjoy writing?"

"Yeah," Darius smiled. "And do you know what bugs me? Bad grammar, I'm pretty glad you're well spoken."

"The perks of being middle class," I laughed, Darius laughed with me. In that moment it wasn't really awkward, though it was interrupted by our escort, Robinetro, coming into the room and switching the television on. The District Seven emblem blazed as we watched our escort come in, holding an earpod to his ear:

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Portia," she said. "I mean, it's only an Avox, who cared if she stabbed into its hand?"

Darius and I stopped talking, only to watch Robinetro pause and watch us contemplatively. He listened to the girl down the phone and sighed.

"She pinned her to the table with a knife? That's unfortunate, is she to be punished?" He sighed. "Well, at least she won't face consequences – you have a brutal fighter on your hands Portia, it's a valuable tribute to have, I don't see why you're complaining."

As our escort talked through opening shots of forests and lumber mills I watched the television screen, watching as the two District Seven tributes were Reaped. One of them was a freckle faced girl who tried to hold back tears as she made her way onto the stage, though there was a strength in her I couldn't identify. After she was reaped, a short, unremarkable looking boy with dark hair followed. I turned away from the television screen.

"Who was that?" I said, as Robinetro terminated the call and ended the conversation.

"Oh... You know," my escort cleared his throat. "Portia, the District Four escort."

Darius tried to stop his jaw from dropping. "So her tribute just pinned an Avox to a table with a knife?"

"She didn't kill it, she just stabbed it," Robinetro paused. "Look at the television, you're on!"

I didn't even cast a glance to the television. I didn't care if I was on TV, and I didn't want to see my shocked face on the screen as I walked onto the stage in a disillusioned manner. I remember Darius when he had been Reaped too, the way he trembled as he made his way onto the stage. I glanced at the footage, brief curiosity hitting me. What would sponsors have thought about us? How would I have appeared? Probably pretty unremarkable like most of the other District kids.

"She didn't kill," I reasoned, watching me standing there on the stage. "But she did hurt someone. She sounds pretty brutal."

"I wouldn't worry-"

"Well I would," I stood up angrily, glaring at Robinetro. "What happened to your tributes last year, hey? Do you remember Tarren, the girl from last year? She was in my chemistry class, I was older so she shouldn't have been but she was so advanced she was elevated there. She's in a grave now. I see her parents walk to it miserably every day. My dad is the Vice-Mayor and he's constantly sending compensation to them and the many other parents of kids who have died." I paused. "Instead of burying your head in the sand, you need to make us aware of who is a threat and who isn't. Admit it: the District Four girl is _dangerous_. She has to be stopped."

After my monologue I forced myself to sit down, feeling colour creep into my cheeks. Darius remained silent and took a sip of the juice I had poured him earlier, though every time he glanced at me his somewhat-interested eyes gave me their own little round of applause. Robinetro's makeup-clad face didn't move for a few seconds – perhaps it was botox.

"Yes," he said. "She's a threat. But I can't do anything about that. We don't have any victors to mentor you. But we do have Capitol-hired survival experts who will do everything in their power to ensure you get given sufficient information."

My father was a politician, so I knew a politician's answer when I saw one. Luckily there was no confrontation, and only silence as the District Nine Reapings flickered onto the television screen. At first it began peacefully for a Reaping – the escort decided to break tradition and pick from the bowl of a boy at first.

"Holton Downing-"

"I volunteer!"

Everybody leant up, watching the television with interest now that District Nine had a batch of volunteers. That was rare, and automatically made the volunteer seem interesting and more of a threat. I expected a bloodthirsty grin and mounds of muscles – the Districts did occasionally produce psychos who volunteered to fulfil their twisted, lifelong dream of killing. Hell, the District Nine boy last year was a psycho, and a District that revolved around hunting and packaging animals in nearby forests often produced children with an indifference for blood.

But the kid who made his way onto the stage wasn't a mound of muscle. He was below average height and somewhat skinny, his formal attire hanging over him as it was way too big. Despite the stubble that clung to him jaw, there wasn't anything masculine about him. He didn't even look happy – he looked miserable as he stood on the stage, looking out at the audience with an indifferent air as I could hear a female family member cry out his name.

The male escort picked from the female Reaping bowl. The modest looking man unfolded the slip of paper in his hand, looking out at the audience and announcing the girl's name:

"Rita Boulder!"

I analysed the next girl carefully. A bright faced, blonde haired girl miserably made her way onto the stage. I didn't think much for her until someone screamed out her name:

"Rita!"

It was always uncomfortable when you heard someone's families crying in the background (and you always did), it made you see the humanity behind the person. Rita continued to make her way towards the stage, wiping back tears as someone tore through the audience and shoved them aside.

"Rita! No! D-Don't!" The girl screamed. The audience slowly forced themselves away from the frantic girl, who had managed to make herself more prominent than the girl who had been volunteered. I looked at the girl – she was tall, dark haired and somewhat well built. When the Peacekeepers had flocked around her and seized her she still struggled, managing to hold them off. "Rita don't go up there! Please!"

Rita paused, took in a shudder breath and put one foot on the step, ready to ascend before the piercing shouts of the girl screamed: "I volunteer! I volunteer, okay?!"

The whole District gasped. The boy on the stage, who had been staring at the floor, managed to gaze up at the girl who made her way to the stage, wiping her tear strained face. As she passed the girl she had volunteered for, I saw one longing look between them, and then Rita reluctantly ran back into the crowd while choking on sobs.

"So, um," the escort wasn't very dramatic, especially for an escort. "Who was that?"

Rita looked up at him briefly. "That was my girlfriend."

And then the intense Reaping ended, making my anxiety of the competition turn into guilt too. I wanted to return, but at what cost? There were people out there who had volunteered in place of loved ones. There were people out there who would give literally anything to go back home, and that suddenly made me feel relatively unimportant.

I was relieved that the District Ten tributes seemed a little more down to earth. The girl called up was a girl-next-door kind of girl, and the boy that followed – while physically impressive – didn't seem anymore eyestriking. Still, I kept a note of the boy, who seemed like he could put up a pretty could fight. But did fists mean anything if I learnt how to use a knife?

District Eleven was interesting too. In the past few years, it had always managed to produce its fair share of good tributes, though this year it was much more of a disappointment. The girl was some short, puppy fat covered tomboy who made her way onto the stage without crying, though still seemed like an inevitable bloodbath. The boy, while older, was somehow shorter and weaker. He almost collapsed as he made his way onto the stage, and burst into a fit of wheezes. I noticed Darius and Robinetro looking at the embarrassed boy awkwardly, feeling some kind of sympathy and humiliation.

I should have felt the same, I _did _feel the same. It was unfair that a boy who couldn't even walk up the stage was expected to compete in a fight to the death. But there were children going in too, and people who were physically weak and had no chance. With the Hunger Games there was no fouls or fairness. All I had to do was count my blessings and be grateful that there was one less person I didn't need to kill myself; I only had to let nature take its course.

That negative thought was pushed aside after the black-coal like emblem of District Twelve took the screen, dissolving to show opening footage of the inhumane coal mines, factories chugging out soot and the grimy seats of the District Twelve seam. Even the town square – which the Capitol went at lengths to make look nice in all the other District – was filled with grimy streets, children with flies resting on them and corpses randomly assorted in the street. It was an extremely disturbing sight, but one the Capitol wanted us to see as a warning. Well over a hundred years ago District Twelve was the centre point of potential rebellion, and the Capitol would never forget that.

The unpretentious, dark haired District Twelve escort managed to pick out the girl's name. The girl called up held the typical dark hair and grey eyes seen in District Twelve, though there was something difference and _threatening _about her. She made sure to show off her long legs as she made her way onto the stage with a feigned look of confidence, smiling and waving at everybody. When she was up there, she was waving kisses before answering the escort's questions.

"She's a prostitute," Darius said, out of the blue. Robinetro and I turned to him.

"How do you-"

"You don't live in the poor areas of the Districts," Darius looked at the girl on the television screen who was still smiling and waving. "Only a prostitute can manage to look euphoric while they want to cry inside. Only a prostitute would manage to keep their hair well-maintained in District Twelve. Reason A is because they have to for the job, reason B is because they make more money than your average low-wage worker."

Darius was observant, I'll give him that. Even Robinetro looked impressed. Nobody paid much attention to the boy who made his way onto the stage; he was quiet, but otherwise I'd remain pretty unassuming about him or his talents.

Leein Malpin, the commentator, was back on the screen:

"And news just in – the most popular tribute, from initial glance, is-"

Robinetro clapped and the television immediately shut down, the commentator's powdered face and multicoloured dreadlocks evaporating into nothingness before our very eyes. I knew why Robinetro had done that, and I knew that Darius knew it too: Robinetro knew we weren't the most popular initially. When there had been District volunteers with emotional backstories, promising underdogs and hulking Careers could a normal District kid expect anything different?

"We could discuss which ones are dangerous," Robinetro retrieved a strawberry from the fruitbowl on the arm of the chair, taking a bite out of the succulent looking fruit. "But I want positivity, people. Who do we see at potential allies?"

"Allies?" I asked, affronted. "I hate to disappoint y'all, but I'm going in there alone."

Robinetro looked at me parentally. "Firstly, do not use strange District Eight slang," I felt like telling him that a lot of girls in a lot of Districts used said slang. "Secondly, if you want a chance in hell of getting out there alive you need someone else with another arsenal of strengths to make you somewhat competent."

"He's right," Darius admitted meekly. "I-I don't know what I'm good at, but if I survive the Bloodbath I'm going to need someone to survive with."

My lips pursed. "If I _had _to be in an alliance, it would be with the more promising looking ones – the Careers, the Ten boy, I'd want someone strong."

"Someone stronger than you who could take you down?" Darius frowned. "I'd want someone loyal."

"And who do you propose?"

"I don't know," Darius looked at the floor, his hands toying together nervously, clicking and unclicking at a concealed writing pen underneath his pocket. "The Twelve boy looks reliable. Maybe one of the Nine tributes? They could be strong too... Maybe the Seven tributes..."

"You're picking out Bloodbaths," I said matter of factly.

"... Maybe you."

I paused again. I wanted to get in Darius' good books, but he was already contemplating an alliance with me? I suddenly felt jailed and restricted. Darius was a nice kid, probably nicer than anyone else I could expect to meet in the Hunger Games, but would I want him to be in an alliance with me? Would I want to throw my chance of survival in his hands? Maybe not.

"I'll think on it," I said, standing up. "Anyway, I want to dress into something more comfortable. I can only stand looking nice in a designer dress for so long."

"Remember to be back in time for the survival mentor," Robinetro chirped a reminder as I went out of the room, leaving Darius looking incredibly crestfallen while guiltiness cooked inside of me. I entered my room, throwing myself onto the bed and letting out a sigh. I wasn't even in the Capitol and there were already choices to make, people to talk to, routes to consider and feelings I didn't want to feel.

Darius went with his heart. I got that, and I often go with my heart too, but this was the Hunger Games. Loyalty didn't exist in the Hunger Games, so Darius was strange for looking for it. But could I consider him as an ally? He was loyal, but I didn't know what if strengths were if he even had any. I wanted to go in alone or with a strong ally. But at the same time, a part of me just wanted nothing more than a friend in with me to make things easier. And Darius had been so kind to me, how could I just casually reject him with the excuse of 'I want better than you?'

I rolled over on the bed so I looked out of the window. Hedges and fields blurred by like buzzing, green fairies, the rush of the outside like the rush that was happening inside my mind. The Hunger Games was a lot worse than I expected, because not just was I battling with other tributes, but I was battling with myself too.

* * *

**Unedited chapter that's bound to be riddled with grammar mistakes. I'm sorry for that.**

**Thanks everyone for all your reviews, and I'm sorry I failed to respond to them. I've planned to respond to around 50% of peoples reviews. I'm also trying to sketch a way to reward reviewers – not in a vague 'if you review, your tribute's chances of dying decreases' way, but a way similar to a sponsor system.**

**I won't, however, have a sponsor system as intricate as other SYOT's do. But I'll find a way to reward you guys :)**

**So yeah, continue to review. And to all those people who rank tributes out of 10 – keep doing that, it's a pretty reliable way of telling me how much you like a tribute, because just saying you 'like' or 'dislike them' is more vague.**

_**~Toxic**_


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